


The Borders of Our Lives

by ilostmyshoe



Series: Making It Up As We Go Along [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Dollhouse
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, F/F, Gen, ace!Sierra (imprint), ace!Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilostmyshoe/pseuds/ilostmyshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the S.H.I.E.L.D. team gets an anonymous tip that the infamous Dollhouse is more than an urban legend they have no choice but to investigate.</p><p>(This exists in the same fictional 'verse as my ace!Ward fics, but you don't have to have read them for it to make sense, and Ward does not appear in this story. The plot takes place between seasons 1 and 2 of Dollhouse and shortly after season 1 of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Please suspend your disbelief to imagine that those time periods overlap. :) Otherwise everything should fit into canon as it currently stands.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the scifibigbang. The amazing art is by [red_b_rackham](http://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham). You can see the art masterpost [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2299577).
> 
> I can't give enough thanks to my beta reader [stars_inthe_sky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky/works). She was a huge help at every stage of the writing process. I"m not sure I could have gotten this done without her, and it definitely wouldn't be nearly as good. All remaining mistakes are mine.

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Conference Room

As the rest of the team left the room, Coulson put a hand on May’s shoulder to hold her back. When they were alone, he closed the door and turned to face her.

“Out with it.”

“What?” She asked.

“Let’s get it over with. I want to send a valued member of our team chasing after an urban legend based on a tip from an anonymous source. I’ve effectively committed Trip to weeks—if not months—of working undercover, as part of a plan that I don’t even know all of the parts of at a time when there are still unknown numbers of Hydra agents out there. Isn’t that exactly the type of irrational, erratic behavior that you were warned about? Isn’t this the part where you confiscate my gun and ask me to step down as head of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

May raised her eyebrows. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

“Oh, so now I’m being ridiculous? Now this is funny to you?”

She sighed and shook her head. “You know this mission is risky, right?”

He nodded.

“But you’re choosing to do it anyway, because if this...Dollhouse,” May rolled her eyes at the ridiculous word, “is real then S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to put it out of business. And you said you have reason to trust this source?”

“I do.” Coulson nodded again. “They sent me a message a couple of months ago warning that there were malignant forces within S.H.I.E.L.D. Even within my team.”

May pursed her lips. “That’s vague.”

“I know, right? At the time, I dismissed it as meaningless. Then they sent another message. This one described the traitor on my team as a specialist, someone trained in violence and espionage.”

May looked up at him sharply.

Coulson shrugged. “Just specific enough to be completely misleading. I didn’t trust it, not really, but then we found out about your secret line and... well...you know the rest. And I’m sorry about the fallout, but you have to admit: they weren’t wrong.”

May looked away. “No, I suppose they weren’t.”

“And compared to their previous vagueness, the latest message: ‘The Dollhouse is real. Get an agent into Lindbloom Security and have them keep an eye out for Senator Clybourn,’ is almost chatty.”

“Even though it tells us absolutely nothing about what the mythical Dollhouse is actually doing or how they’re doing it.”

“Hey,” Coulson forced a smirk, “Too much certainty would take all the fun out of it. Anyway, Trip’s agreed to go in and let us know when he makes contact. Until then, the rest of us will stay focused on hunting Hydra. What could possibly go wrong?”

May rolled her eyes.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Coulson asked. “Am I a crazy liability?”

May shrugged. “Always, but not any more than usual. I figure if you’re worried about your sanity I don’t have to be. I’ve got your back, and whatever craziness follows, we’ll find a way to deal.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.” Coulson grinned and patted May on the shoulder.

May shrugged it off and bit back a smile of her own.

*   *   *   *  *

L.A. Dollhouse: DeWitt’s Office

“So, Mr. Triplett, it seems that we owe you quite a debt of gratitude.” Adelle DeWitt turned away from the window and regarded Antoine Triplett clinically. “Senator Clybourn is a valued client and supporter of our organization, and I am understand that you saved his life.”

Trip returned her gaze earnestly. “Honestly, ma’am, I was just doing my job.”

“I see. And that job was?”

“Security, at one of the senator’s events.”

“It’s quite impressive that a simple security guard was able to foil an assassination attempt that appears to have been planned by Hydra.” DeWitt raised an eyebrow.

Trip shrugged. “I was in the right place at the right time, and I do have some relevant experience.”

“Well, I suppose we must all be grateful for the fortunate confluence of events.” DeWitt forced a smile. “I assume Senator Clybourn explained to you about what we do here?”

“He said you could make my wildest fantasies come true.” The corner of Trip’s lip twitched in the hint of a smile.

DeWitt pressed her lips together. “Well, that’s rather hyperbolic, but yes, in a manner of speaking. At the Dollhouse we assist people with needs and desires that are difficult or impossible to fulfill in the outside world. In your case, the senator has arranged for you to have a series of three interactions, designed to your specifications, with the young woman—or man—of your choice. There are some limitations, of course, but they only apply in fairly extreme circumstances. We’ll let you know if any of them are relevant to your request.”

Trip’s narrowed his eyes. “Okay, I think there may have been a misunderstanding here. I have no interest in supporting prostitution. Please let the senator know that I appreciate the thought, but I really was just doing my job, and all of this…” he gestured at DeWitt and the rest of the room, “is completely unnecessary.” He turned and walked towards the door.

“A moment, Mr. Triplett.” At the sound of DeWitt’s voice, Trip paused and slowly turned around. “I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding. Our people are not prostitutes. A prostitute exchanges sex for money. They may be reluctant or enthusiastic, but on some level they are always performing to earn their fee. That is not the case with our Actives. They are not performing. They are not faking it. Whatever you ask us for, whatever fantasies you have kept hidden all your life, the Active will be one hundred percent honest as they bring them to life for you.”

Trip crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Well, I’m not completely convinced, but I am intrigued. Is this the part where I tell you my deepest, darkest desires?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” DeWitt’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “We have an automated room set up for that. To protect your privacy, of course. We call it the Confessional, because whatever you choose to say in there will be kept completely confidential. Our computer system will process the information and forward the data to our staff as needed in an anonymous, standardized format.”

Trip chuckled. “Well, I’ve never been to confession before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Quite. If you would please follow me?” DeWitt inclined her head and then lead the way out of the room.

*   *   *   *   *

L.A. Dollhouse: Topher’s Lab

“Boyd! Come here! Look at this!” Topher gestured frantically until Langton walked over to stand by him at his computer.

“Look!” Topher jabbed his finger at the screen. “Look at this guy! What do you make of him?”

Langton shrugged. “Not much. He’s here as a favor to Senator Clybourn, so his engagement is a top priority. We couldn’t find any information about his life prior to a few months ago, but I suspect he may be a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, which would explain it.”

Topher tilted his head. “Didn’t Captain America and his people release all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. data to the public? Shouldn’t that mean we know everything about him?”

“Not necessarily. All of the information was released, but this is an organization that consisted primarily of scientists, hackers, and spies. It isn’t surprising that much of it has since been scrubbed from all public databases.”

“Fair enough.” Topher nodded thoughtfully. “So the guy’s a super-spy, a super-spy that looks like a G.I. Joe. Were there black G.I. Joes? I’m pretty sure there was at least one...Anyway, a guy, with those skills, who looks like that, saves a senator’s life and suddenly gets offered whatever he wants as a reward. What do you think he asks for?”

Langton pressed his lips together. “So, you’re ignoring all of the confidentiality clauses now?”

“Come on, Boyd. You’re the head of security. You can’t expect me to keep things secure from security—that would be ridiculous!” Topher rolled his eyes. “Besides, it’s not like you won’t find out once the engagements start. Come on! Guess already.”

“I have no idea.”

“Wrong!” Topher interrupted and then paused as his mind caught up with what had just been said.

Langton crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

Topher glared at him. “Well, you would have been wrong if you weren’t a total killjoy who can’t be bothered to make a stupid guess! There is no way you would ever have guessed what he asked for in the Confessional.”

Langton sighed. “I supposed you’re going to tell me anyway?”

“Not if you’re going to be like that I won’t.” Topher pouted for a moment before relenting. “Fine. But only because I need someone to appreciate this. See, here’s the list of his requests, as generated by the system: kind, smart, family oriented...” He looked at Langton and waved his hands in distress.

Langton looked back at him. “I’m not sure I see the problem.”

“The problem? The problem is that it’s normal! Boring! It looks like a Christian Mingle ad written by someone’s grandmother! He wants to take her to a multi-cultural art museum for crying out loud!”

“So...you’re upset that he’s a nerd?”

“Oh, no,” Topher scoffed. “Nerds are my people, man-friend. I am totally, completely fine with nerds. We’ve worked with lots of them in the past, and most of them are kinky bastards. If anything they're a little more sex-starved and creative than our average customer. If he wanted to have sex with her on top of a triceratops skeleton, I would be totally down for that. Hell, I might want to watch. But this, this is not nerdiness, dude.

“I hate to say it, but I think he might just be a healthy, well-adjusted human being. We don’t _do_ healthy and well adjusted! DeWitt has a whole spiel about dealing in needs instead of wants. I don’t know if this guy _needs_ anything...unless he’s lying. Do you think he’s lying? That might make sense, but if he is, how the hell am I supposed to figure out how to set up the perfect Active for him? Don’t people understand that if they aren’t honest I can’t do my job? Do they think this all just happens by magic?” Topher’s gestures became more and more erratic.

Langton put a hand on his shoulder. “Topher. Look at me.” He waited until Topher complied. “Breathe.” Topher took a deep breath and released it.

“Boyd, I don’t think we should do this. I should tell DeWitt we can’t help him. This is totally outside our wheelhouse, man.” Topher looked at Langton pleadingly.

Langton’s eyes hardened. “Topher, this engagement is important. I’m counting on you—we’re all counting on you to make this work. Don’t let us down.”

“Important? Why? He’s just some ex-secret agent turned security guard. What’s so important about this?” Topher asked.

Langton pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Topher shrugged at him helplessly.

“He’s a former secret agent who—?”

“Oh…Oh! He saved the senator! This is important because of the senator! Is the senator part of some bigger plan?”

“Topher, this is the Dollhouse. There’s always a bigger plan.”

“I guess so…but…I still don’t know what to do to make this work.”

“Well, have you watched the raw footage from his time in the confessional?”

Topher shook his head. “I thought you wanted me to respect confidentiality?”

“Watch it. If you need to, program one of the dolls as an analyst to help you read between the lines. Trust me when I say that no one in that line of work is completely well adjusted. He needs something. He may not even know what it is, but I’m sure it exists. Use as much time and whatever resources you need to make this work. Don’t screw it up.” Langton patted Topher on the shoulder and turned to leave.

Topher gave a watery smile. “But, no pressure, right?”

Langton stopped at the door and turned back to look at him. “Of course. When is there ever pressure here?”

*   *   *   *   *

Outside a Coffee Shop in L.A.

Trip lounged back in his chair and focused on his copy of _Guns, Germs, and Steel_. It was a beautiful day in Los Angeles. The sun was bright; a light breeze kept it from being too hot, and his cup of free-trade Columbian coffee was brewed just right. He subtly adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses with the hidden camera and comlink and smiled slightly as he heard Fitz and Simmons arguing about the validity of Jared Diamond’s central thesis.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see a slender, blonde, Asian woman standing in front of his table.

“So,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye and a soft Australian accent. “How’s it feel to read about why your ancestors got their asses handed to them?”

“Actually, I was thinking that, after the battle of New York, humanity as a whole is the civilization with inferior technology and weapons.” Trip cocked his head to the side. “And with our lack of interstellar travel, we probably have less robust immune systems, too.”

“Well, isn’t that a cheery thought.” The woman grinned and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Sabrina Atal. I’m meeting someone named Antoine Triplett here, and he’s supposed to be reading that book. I’m hoping that’s you, otherwise your choice in reading material is a pretty crazy coincidence.”

Trip stood and shook her hand. “No coincidence. Antoine Triplett, at your service.”

“Cool. Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.” He waited for her to sit before seating himself.

“So, Sabrina, what deep, dark secret in your past lead you to accepting blind dates set up by a friend of a friend?”

Sabrina looked at him with dramatic faux-seriousness. “I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.” She laughed and shook her head. “You know how it is. It’s so damn hard to find other ace people, let alone ones I’m romantically attracted to. I’ve got some feelers out on the regular websites, but no luck so far. So, yeah, if a friend of a friend says they know someone who they think would be a great fit I figure it can’t hurt to try, right?”

Trip looked confused. “Um, I feel like I missed something. ‘Other ace people’?”

Sabrina looked at him in horror. “Oh, no. Oh, _fuck_ no! I don’t ask for much; I really don’t. I can be flexible on appearance, personality, interests, pretty much anything and everything else, but I am so _done_ trying to date allosexuals.” She took in his shocked expression and softened slightly. “Look, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I’m sure you’re a sweet guy and all, but this is _so_ not going to work, so let me save us both the trouble by walking away before we even start.”

She got up to leave, and Trip stood up with her.

“Wait,” he said, reaching out but not touching her. “Clearly I said something wrong, and I’m sorry. You can leave if you want to, but can you at least tell me what I did?”

Sabrina eased back into her seat, and Trip sat back down as well.

“Fine,” Sabrina took a deep breath, “So, short version: I’m asexual—also known as ‘ace.’ That basically means no matter who you are or what you look like I have no interest in fucking you—” she tilted her head and forced a saccharine smile, “—ever.”

Trip held up his hands. “Hey, no complaints here. I definitely didn’t come out this afternoon expecting sex on a first date. And even if we were in a relationship, I’d never want you to feel pressured to have sex.”

“Right. I’ve never heard _that_ before—except from every allosexual I’ve ever dated.”

“And allosexuals are...?”?” Trip prompted.

“Anybody who isn’t ace. They can be gay, straight, bi, pan, whatever, but there’s some category of people out there that they’re sexually attracted to. And in my experience that means that even if they’re fine ‘taking it slow’ for a while, they eventually tire of hand-holding and cuddling and just want to get to the fucking already.”

“People you were dating _said_ that to you?” Trip’s expression was a mix of surprise and anger.

Sabrina shrugged. “They didn’t have to. They just kept pushing for more: more tongue, more suction, more hands all over the place. When I said I wasn’t comfortable with that they took it to mean I just wasn’t comfortable enough with them yet. And when I said I wasn’t ever going to be interested in that they though I meant I wasn’t really interested in them.” She scoffed. “When I was lucky they left before things got really nasty.”

“Damn.” Trip said softly.

“Yeah.” Sabrina nodded in agreement, and then they both sat silently for a while.

Trip looked at Sabrina and smiled slightly. “I think it’s pretty damn brave of you.”

“What?” Sabrina gaped at him in confusion.

Trip shrugged. “You’ve clearly had some really shitty dating experiences, but you still keep trying.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have much of a choice if I want a romantic relationship.” She sighed. “It’s not like I’m aro—though sometimes I think it’d be easier if I was.”

Trip raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aro? Aromantic? Someone who doesn’t experience romantic attraction and often doesn’t want romantic relationships. Which doesn’t apply to me, so I just keep throwing myself into the dating pool and trying to learn from my mistakes.”

“Still,” Trip insisted. “After the nasty breakups, making yourself try again can’t have been easy. You should give yourself more credit.”

“I guess.” Sabrina shrugged. “Though everybody has some nasty breakups in their past, right?”

“Well, not everybody.”

“Hey, I was just trying to make myself feel better, but by all means...wait.” Sabrina looked at him sharply. “Do you have a specific exception in mind?”

“Uh, me?” Trip actually looked embarrassed.

“Really? So all of your breakups were totally amicable?”

“Yes, in the sense that I haven’t actually had any.”

Sabrina looked at him in confusion. “Does that mean you never—?”

“Had a relationship? Yeah, pretty much.”

“Wait...so, are _you_ aro?”

“What? No. Maybe? I don’t know!” Trip closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re throwing all these words around that I’ve never heard of or thought about before. Do you honestly think I’m going to instantly label myself just so that you can decide if I’m acceptable dating material?”

“Whoa. Sorry. I get it: your identity is your business. I was just asking.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence again, lost in their own thoughts.

“So, uh, I’m gonna grab something to eat. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Pastry?” Trip asked, falsely casual.

Sabrina shook her head. “No. I told you. I’m not interested in—”

Trip held up a hand. “Not as a date—at this point I’m not even sure I’m interested in that. But this is my first day off in months, and I’d love it if you’d help me celebrate by having some coffee and keeping me company for a bit. Please?”

“Fine. I guess I can do that.”

“Don’t sound too excited; you might hurt yourself.” Trip grinned. “So, what can I get you?”

“Chai latte? And a croissant if they have them.”

“Coming right up.”

He returned with a tray carrying a croissant, her chai, and a salad and glass of water for himself.

“Healthy,” Sabrina observed, a hint of a smile playing across her lips.

“Hey, I’ve got to stay fit for work.”

“And what exactly do you do for a living? Actor? Model? Physical trainer?”

“Why Ms. Atal, you’ll make me blush.” Trip winked then shook his head. “Nothing so glamorous. I used to be in, ah, I guess you could call it Special Forces. But now I just do freelance security work.”

“Special forces? Is that like Black Ops or C.I.A. or S.H.I.E.L.D. or something?”

“Or something.” Trip’s smile faded and he looked wistful.

Sabrina’s eyes softened. “Sounds like you miss it.”

“Sometimes.” Trip shrugged. “I can’t complain. I’ve got a gig that pays the bills, and that’s more than a lot of people can say. But it’s pretty brainless; all I have to do is keep my eyes open and try to look intimidating. I miss having a long-term strategy, working closely with a team for the greater good, that kind of thing... But hey, it is what it is, right? What about you?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’ve found my life’s calling or anything, but I’ve been in pharmaceutical development at Rossum for over five years now. My team is chill, the benefits are top-notch, and we’re doing good work, at least in theory, so I’m pretty happy for the time being.”

“You work at Rossum? Really?” Trip leaned forward in excitement.

“Yeah. Why? You’ve heard of us?”

“Have I heard of you?” Trip shook his head. “Hasn’t everybody heard of Rossum? I swear, your company funded at least half of the papers I read during my med training. You’re at the forefront of practically every field. Doesn’t it blow your mind, knowing that you’re working on the cutting edge of medical science every single day?”

Now it was Sabrina’s turn to laugh. “Oh, man, I wish. More like slogging through the muddy trenches of bureaucracy. Most of the stuff Rossum puts out comes from small startups that have already done ninety-five percent of the work before our corporate side swoops in and buys them up. The stuff my team is working on won’t be at press-release levels of success for years, if ever, and don’t even get me started on the long, drawn-out regulatory approval process...”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I was wrong. Your job sucks.” Trip smiled, and Sabrina made a face at him. “I guess I was thinking about the geek squad I work with—well, used to work with—and I made some assumptions. You should meet them someday, though. I think you guys would really hit it off.”

“Huh. Maybe.” Sabrina fidgeted in her seat. “Hey, the food and talking’s been great and all, but how about we go actually _do_ something?”

“You have anything in particular in mind?”

Sabrina tilted her head to the side and grinned wickedly. “Yes. Yes, I do. Tell me, Mr. Secret-Agent-Man, have you ever played laser tag?”

*   *   *   *   *

L.A. Dollhouse: Topher’s Lab

“Laser tag. Really?” DeWitt raised her eyebrows.

“I know, right?” Topher was practically bouncing in his seat. “I thought it was super fitting. I mean, who wouldn’t want to play laser tag with a real, live, secret agent when given the chance?”

The corner of DeWitt’s lip twitched slightly. “Indeed.”

“And that’s not even the best part! She totally kicked his a—” Topher paused and looked at DeWitt. “Err...butt. Tocks. Kicked his buttocks.”

“An active programed as a scientist defeated a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent at laser tag? Topher, did you meddle with the imprint for your own amusement? I thought I was clear that this was an important engagement.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Senator Clybourn, blah, blah, blah.” Topher rolled his eyes. “I didn’t meddle,” He marked the word with air quotes. “It’s not my fault that one of the best existing scientist imprints has a serious obsession with laser tag. Well, technically it is—I mean, I designed all of our imprints—but I didn’t add it for this engagement. So, yeah. Totally accidental.”

DeWitt’s expression softened slightly. “Ah. I see.”

“Besides,” Topher shrugged. “I think the agent kinda liked it. I mean, he complained about the weight being off and the sensors being inconsistent, but he wasn’t really _complaining_ , if you get my drift.”

“Quite.” DeWitt nodded. “So he was satisfied? Are we still on schedule for the second engagement.”

“Yup. We’re all good to go. Museum snooze-fest here they come!”

*   *   * *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Conference Room

“There is definitely something weird going on here!” Skye declared as she and Simmons strode into the conference room.

The rest of the team turned to look at her. There was a moment of silence before May said, “Care to elaborate?”

“Right. Yeah.” Skye liked her lips and then bent over to connect her laptop to the conference table projector as she spoke. “So right now Trip’s mystery date is basically our only clue to start figuring out what the Dollhouse is really doing with these people. I used the images we got from Trip’s glasses to do an image search on her, and at first I came up completely blank, which was super weird. I mean, basically everyone has some images online, and the facial-match algorithms that I was using normally have a really high success rate.”

“So, you’re saying she doesn’t exist online,” Coulson said. “Or—”

“Or all records of her existence have been systematically erased, just like I did for us. And either they retroactively erased everything from before they took her or she’s been with them for her whole life.” Skye nodded.

“So, that puts us back to square one?” May asked.

“Not quite.” Skye grinned. “Thanks to the secret bases and the info Coulson got from Fury, I’ve been able to access S.H.I.E.L.D.’s old data dumps. Did you know they’ve basically been archiving copies of the _entire Internet_ at regular intervals since the nineties? I set up a series of search programs to find any images that match our mystery woman, but it’s going to take some time for them to run through the stored files.”

“How long?” Coulson asked.

“Uh…about a week? Maybe two at the most?” Skye guessed.

“A week? Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Fitz demanded. “Are you sure you’re doing everything possible to maximize the efficiency of the searches?”

Skye rolled her eyes at him. “Pretty sure, yeah. We no longer have access to the kind of computing power we had when S.H.I.E.L.D. was officially operational. We’re lucky we still have access to the archives, or this whole thing would be completely impossible.”

“Skye’s being modest.” Simmons broke in, glaring at Fitz. “The bundled chronological structure of the archives makes a search like this incredibly difficult. Anyone trying to do it with traditional algorithms and our equipment would take months to find anything, and that’s if they were lucky. Skye’s already found three relevant clusters of images.”

“Way to steal my thunder, Jem.” Skye made a face at her, bumping their shoulders together to soften the rebuke. Simmons stuck her tongue out at Skye, but leaned against her slightly to maintain their contact. Skye smiled down at her.

Coulson cleared his throat.

Skye looked up. “Sorry. Right. So, my programs did manage to find a couple of hits in the last few months, but this is where things get really weird. As you can see,” She gestured to pull the relevant images up onto the projection. “Here, our girl popped up on a college campus working for the CDC. That’s all well and good, there’s some overlap with the background she gave Trip so it’s pretty easy to understand how the Dollhouse could take her from one role to the other. But here,” Skye indicated an image of the same woman in a short, black wig, “She apparently was working as a safe cracker for a group of art thieves, and here,” This time, the girl in the image looked almost impossibly young and awkward with glasses and braided pigtails. “She was all over the news for having won a contest as some pop artist’s biggest fan. She was then kidnapped by said pop artist’s stalker and almost killed. The news articles give very little detail about her, except to specify that she traveled from her home in Australia for the contest.”

Skye looked around the room. Everyone else stared at the pictures in silence.

“Come on, guys,” Skye said. “Somebody say something. It’s weird, right?”

“I think weird might be an understatement,” said Coulson.

“Could she be a well-trained spy?” asked Fitz. “Coopted from S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra or some other organization and sent by the Dollhouse on an idiosyncratic set of missions?”

“Maybe.” May pressed her lips together. “The body language doesn’t seem right, though. In the first image, it’s completely different from the third, but in both she clearly doesn’t know how to defend herself. That degree of incompetence is almost impossible to fake that convincingly. And what would be the point?”

“Maybe,” Simmons suggested, “the actual explanation is the simplest: the Dollhouse has some technology that allows them to program their people with temporary, artificial personalities.”

Coulson raised his eyebrows. “Near instantaneous brainwashing? Similar to when S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me memories of Tahiti, but on a larger scale, actually creating distinct personalities? Is that possible?”

“In theory? Absolutely. As far as I know the technology doesn’t exist, but for a company with the right resources and no moral restrictions? I can’t rule it out.” Simmons shrugged.

Coulson swallowed and forced a smile. “Well, that’s a new, terrifying idea. Thank you, Skye, Simmons. This was very informative. Please keep us updated on anything else you discover.”

“Of course.” Skye nodded as Coulson and May walked out together.

“Well, they’re clearly off to discuss matters between themselves.” Simmons turned to watch them leave, leaning back against the table.

“Yup.” Skye turned as well.

“Hey, I’ve been wondering,” Fitz said. “What do you think Trip asked for to end up with a date who was asexual? He seemed rather unfamiliar with the term during their conversation. Did he just indicate reluctance to have sex during his encounter? Or was there something else that he said?”

“Either way, I think it’s rather admirable,” Simmons said, smiling.

Skye snorted. “Right. Not having sex with the coerced and/or brainwashed prostitute is totally admirable. It’s not, like, a sign of basic human decency. You need higher standards, Jem. Next you’ll be handing out cookies for not kicking puppies.”

“Hmmm. Maybe, you’re right.” Simmons crossed her arms and looked thoughtful. “I really do need higher standards. I should probably start by finding a better girlfriend.”

Skye laughed and pulled Simmons over to stand in front of her, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman’s waist. “Whatever. You wish you knew how to quit me.” She bent forward and kissed her on the cheek. Simmons rolled her eyes and made tutting noises but smiled as she leaned back into the embrace.

Fitz coughed awkwardly. “Well, um...I think I’ll just go see if Coulson needs anything.” As he walked down the hallway he muttered to himself, “Of course, Fitz, not having sex with a sex worker is just the obvious thing to do. Even considering it makes you a bad, bad person. Anyone who does should be ashamed. Well, that’s awfully easy for Ms. ‘I’m getting laid every night’ to say. I wonder if there’s always a direct correlation between regular orgasms with a partner and moral righteousness. Humph.”

*   *   *   *   *

The Fowler Museum, L.A.

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in L.A. your entire life and you’ve never been to the Fowler!” Trip laughed as they entered the museum.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “We moved here from Australia when I was in middle school, and I stayed in the area for undergrad. That’s hardly my entire life.”

“Still, those are prime field trip years. You never came for a class trip or _something_?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “Why? Did you come here for school on a yearly basis or something? It seems awfully small for a class full of kids.”

He thought for a moment. “I guess I only came for school the one time, and that was more a tour of the campus that happened to include a stop at the museum. But my mom brought me here all the time growing up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s really into history and wanted me to know mine on both her side and my dad’s side. The Yoruba collection here is one of the top three in the world.”

“Oh.” She paused for a moment. “So, your family’s Yoruba?”

“On my dad’s side. My grandparents moved here from Nigeria when he was just a kid, so he was pretty Americanized, but yeah.”

“So how come he wasn’t the one bringing you here?” she asked.

Trip’s voice was casual. “Never got the chance. He died when I was three—shot in the line of duty.”

“Oh. Man, I’m sorry.” Sabrina reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged. “I don’t really remember him. It’s just how things have always been, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess. So your mom raised you by herself?”

“Not completely. The whole reason we moved here from the east coast was so to live near my grandparents and have a connection with that side of the family. They aren’t much for museums, but they definitely tried to educate me about Nigerian culture.”

“Wait, your mom moved across the country to live near her in-laws? That’s intense. My parents haven’t even lived in the same country as their own parents since they became adults. The idea of my mom taking my sisters and I to live in Germany with my dad’s parents, or my dad taking us to live in Nepal? It would never happen!”

“So you’ve never met your grandparents?”

“Nope.” She shrugged. “Family always just meant the six of us: Mom, Dad, me, and my three younger sisters. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins over the years—and I think my parents Skype with their siblings pretty regularly now that that’s a thing—but growing up with grandparents that actually live in the same city as you? That’s an idea I can’t quite wrap my head around.”

“It had its ups and downs. They were really supportive, and I know they helped my mom out a ton, but then there were things like church every Sunday—they’re much more religious than my mother—and the whole dating thing.” He grimaced.

“Dating thing?” Sabrina asked. “I thought you said you’d never dated.”

“Exactly. My grandparents believe that dating should only happen immediately before getting married and having children. Dating in middle school or high school was completely out of the question. My mom disagreed with them about plenty of other things, but that one she was happy to get behind.”

“No shit, really? No dating until you were out of high school?” Sabrina gaped at him.

“Out of college. Preferably with at least one graduate degree.”

“And you just…went with it? As a teenage boy growing up in the states?”

He smiled wryly. “That should have been the first clue, right? That something was different about me? But I love my mom, and I wanted her to be happy, so I made do. I focused on things—school, sports, volunteer work—and didn’t think about it too much.”

“Huh. And after high school? I mean at that point how would they even know, right?”

“I went straight into training and then into the field. We barely had time to breathe, let alone date. I knew casual sex wasn’t my thing, and I saw too many workplace relationships go sour to want to risk that.”

“And now you’re out and have to figure out what you might actually want in a relationship for the first time in you adult life.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I guess that pretty much sums it up.”

“Huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sabrina shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess just that it’s interesting and I’m glad you shared with me.”

“Huh,” he replied.

She bit back a grin. They walked around the exhibit in silence for a while, examining a display of West African cloth and another of South Asian pottery.

“What about you? What was your high school experience like?”

Sabrina laughed. “I was pretty much the nerdiest nerd possible. I managed to break my leg sophomore year by falling out of a tree. I’d already broken the other falling off a horse when we first moved to L.A., so that basically cemented my reputation as the giant klutz with a semi-permanent cast.”

“Ouch.” Trip made a face in sympathy.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Stuff got better senior year, though. I joined the swim team and was actually pretty good. Also the whole college application process suddenly made geek look a lot more chic.” She grinned. “And then I got to Harvey Mudd and life was all kinds of awesome.”

“Maybe it’s weird to ask, but when in all of that did you figure out you were—you know—asexual?”

She stopped walking for a moment and bit her lip in thought. “After the end of my second relationship. The first guy I dated was basically an asshole, so I broke up with him pretty quickly and didn’t think much of it. My second relationship, though, was with a girl I really loved. I loved talking with her and cuddling with her and even kissing her. But when she wanted to do more I couldn’t make myself be okay with it. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t. When we broke up she demanded what the hell was wrong with me.”

“And this is the one who wasn’t an asshole?”

“Hey, it was high school. She didn’t know any better. And I didn’t know how to explain it myself, so I started looking online for anyone who could relate to my experience. When I found the word ‘asexual’ I was so fucking relieved that there was a word for it, that I wasn’t the only who felt that way.”

“What were your guesses before that?”

“I don’t know…Bisexual? Introverted? An asocial freak?” She shrugged.

“So you were glad to figure out you were asexual? You weren’t worried about it?”

“Worried about what?”

“Worried that you’ll never find a romantic partner. You’ll never have kids or a normal life.” Trip’s voice was casual, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Hey, technically I could have kids if I wanted to, and I guess I might consider artificial insemination under the right circumstances. Adoption’s totally an option, too. And not finding the right partner is a possibility that everyone has to deal with. So ‘normal’ can go fuck itself.”

Trip huffed a quiet laugh, and his body visibly relaxed. “Yeah, I guess ‘normal’ was never really an option anyway.”

“Pretty much.” Sabrina grinned and led him into one of the film exhibits. They watched it cycle through in silence

When they walked back out Trip said, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” Sabrina mimed shooting him with her fingers, and he smiled and rolled his eyes before turning serious.

“Why did you agree to go out with me again?”

“Why not?” She walked over to get a closer look at a set of intricate puppets from Bali.

Trip followed her. “You said you were looking for a long-term, romantic relationship with another asexual. I don’t exactly meet those qualifications.”

“So?” Sabrina’s focus stayed on the puppets.

“So, that seemed pretty important to you the other day. Now it’s just irrelevant?”

Sabrina turned to face him. “It’s not…irrelevant, it’s just not the only thing that’s important. I like you. You’re interesting. You came closer to beating me in laser tag than anyone has in a long time, and when you talked about this museum you were so ridiculously enthusiastic that I had to see it. It was adorable. Even if romance is off the table, I like hanging out with you. Is that cool?”

“Yeah.” Trip nodded. “I can work with that.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Conference Room

Coulson looked at his team and crossed his arms. “Okay, people. In two days Trip goes on his last excursion with Sabrina. We are running out of time to figure out our next steps. We need to know where this woman came from originally and what exactly the Dollhouse might be doing to ‘program’ her. Skye, do you have any new information?”

Skye shook her head and grinned. “Oh, I’ve got information out the wazoo. Not a clue what to make of any of it, but I’ve got plenty.”

“Can you start with the results of your facial recognition search?” Coulson asked.

“Sure. My programs weren’t able to get through all of the archives,” May opened her mouth to make a comment and Skye held up a finger signaling her to wait. “ _But_ I did get through the past six years, which was enough time to find a stable identity for our girl. Meet Priya Tsetsang. Born to a German mother and a Nepalese father, Priya grew up in Australia and became a folk artist. She immigrated to the U.S. a couple years ago and seems to have spent most of her time traveling, hanging out at the beach, and trying to sell her artwork. All around a pretty cool chick. Then, out of the blue she starts to exhibit dramatic signs of paranoid schizophrenia. There’s no family history, no record of any predisposition in adolescence or young adulthood.”

“That’s incredibly uncommon,” Simmons said skeptically. “Schizophrenia is widely accepted to have a significant genetic component; the vast majority of those diagnosed with it have at least one relative with the disease or related symptoms. And while a sudden onset of symptoms is possible, there are usually a number of early warning signs, even if they may only be recognizable in hindsight.”

“I know. Weird, right?” Skye grinned. “We may have found her original identity, but it basically raises more questions than it answers. So I decided to try something different.”

Simmons jumped in excitedly. “I thought this bit was absolutely brilliant! Basically, Skye ran through all of our tapes of Trip’s conversations with Sabrina—”

“Jemma helped.” Skye grinned at her. Simmons shrugged.

“Yeah, I helped a bit. Anyways, _we_ —” Simmons smiled almost shyly, “teased out each bit of information that Sabrina shared about herself—her job, family, educational background, medical history...”

“Even her accent and description of her old laser tag league.” Skye finished. “Then we ran—”

“—a multivariate search that treated each piece of information as a vector and maximized the factor alignment while minimizing the number of distinct results returned.”

May raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly. “Uh huh...”

Coulson said, “In English, please?”

“Basically we had the program try to find one or more people that matched our descriptions. It gave us back the results that managed to cover the most descriptions using the fewest people. This was the best combination.” Skye pulled up the images of three women on the table display.

“This one,” Simmons pointed to an African-American woman with intricate braids and big, brown eyes, “is Hazel Scott. She grew up in L.A. with her parents and four sisters. She stayed close to home and did her undergrad at Harvey Mudd. She went to the East Coast for grad school but moved back to L.A. after graduation to be close to her family. However, she studied physics, not biochemistry; she played lacrosse instead of swimming; and she’s married with a two-year-old daughter.”

“Aww. I bet she’s adorable.” Fitz cooed.

“She really is,” Simmons agreed earnestly.

“Moving on.” Skye continued. “Candidate number two is Rebecca Jenkins-Rye. She actually works at Rossum in their pharmaceutical research division. According to social media she is currently single, and she identifies herself as an asexual looking for the same. She also is a three-time local laser tag champion. The caveats are that she’s an orphan. She and her brother were raised by their aunt and uncle in northern Iowa. She went to undergrad in Chicago, grad school in Boston, and had never set foot in L.A. until she started work at Rossum.”

“And candidate number three?” Coulson asked.

Skye looked at Simmons and then indicated the final picture: a blonde, European woman with frizzy hair and a deep tan. “Candidate number three is named Lynn Wilson, and she’s sort of the quirky outlier. I mean, she grew up in Australia, so she’s got the accent, and apparently she broke her leg falling off of a horse when she was twelve and then broke the other leg falling out of a tree three years later, just like Sabrina said she did. Neither of the other two is on record as ever having broken a bone. She’s got nothing else in common with Sabrina at all except that, well, we transcribed all of the conversations between Trip and Sabrina, and apparently Lynn here is the closest linguistic match to Sabrina’s patterns of speech.”

“Weird.” Coulson nodded his head.

“Told you.” Skye shrugged.

“I think brain reprogramming is looking more and more like the most plausible option,” Simmons insisted. “Somehow the Dollhouse took the personalities and history of these three women, mixed them together, and put them into Priya Tsetseng’s brain.”

“Man, that’s fucked up.” Skye shook her head.

“So what’s our next move?” Fitz asked.

“We have to get her out,” May said.

Coulson said, “I want to remind everyone that Rossum’s a huge, powerful corporation, and there is a lot going on here that we still don’t understand.”

“Right. And the only way to get answers is to get this girl out of their reach and ask her directly.” May answered.

“Good. We’re agreed, then.” Coulson said.

Everyone looked at him in confusion.

“What? I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. Let’s do this thing. Fitz, get me a scrambled line to Trip.”

“Right away, sir.”

*   *   *   *   *

Saddleback Butte State Park, north of L.A.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, as she stopped to take another drink from her water bottle. “I know I said I wanted to spend more time outside, but I can’t say this is what I had in mind.”

Trip smiled. “Having trouble with the heat?”

“Yeah, and the dust, and the stupidly long ride to get here. Why couldn’t we have gone hiking somewhere closer to the city?”

“Nah. Nothing close to L.A. compares with this. There’s beauty in the high desert that you can’t find anywhere else. Plus, it’s not crawling with tourists.”

“You can say that again.” She laughed. “I’m not sure there’s anyone else for miles.”

Trip nodded thoughtfully. “I think you’re right. Come on. I want us to get to the top of the butte before sunset.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

They hiked in silence for a while, slightly awed by the wide-open space and the idiosyncratic shapes of the Joshua trees. Sabrina began breathing harder as they started to climb the butte itself.

Finally, they reached the top and looked out at the view below them.

“Wow,” Sabrina said, and then laughed under her breath. “It’s amazing. I’m not sure what else to say...”

“Yeah...” Trip agreed, but he turned to look back over his shoulder and then looked back at Sabrina. “Hey, Sabrina?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Why?” She took a step back, away from him.

“It’s important. I’m sorry, I can’t explain right now, but...you don’t have a pacemaker or anything electronic on you, do you?”

“Just my phone.” She took it out and showed it to him. “Trip, you’re starting to really freak me out.”

“No. It’s fine. Don’t worry, just...put your phone one the ground, okay?”

She looked at him skeptically. This time he took a step back.

“Look, I’m not going to touch it. Just put it down.”

Looking up at him warily she knelt down and placed the phone on the ground. She slowly removed her hand, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Good. Thanks.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Sabrina just had time to recognize that it was a toy joy buzzer before he pressed it. Her phone let out a whine and then a series of sharp popping noises. Then she felt a sharp, stabbing pain at the back of her neck and passed out.

*   *   *   *   *

Sabrina woke up slowly. Strong winds whipped the air, and a large black plane hovered above the butte. A door opened and a rope ladder unfolded downwards.

Sabrina turned to Trip. She had to yell to be heard over the noise of the plane. “What the hell is going on here?”

Trip grinned. “You know how I said I used to be Special Forces and you asked if I meant something like S.H.I.E.L.D.? Well, it actually was S.H.I.E.L.D., and it’s more of a present tense type of thing.”

“What are you talking about? S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t exist anymore! Everyone knows that!”

“There are a lot of things out there that ‘everyone knows’ don’t exist. That’s part of the problem.” Trip yelled back.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything! Come on! I’ll explain inside, but we’ve got to go now! Grab onto the ladder! Please!”

Sabrina bit her lip, looked out at the desert below her, and looked up at the plane above. She took a deep breath, grabbed the rope ladder with both hands, and stepped on. Trip smiled with relief and jumped on himself just as the ladder began to retract back up into the plane.

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Med Bay

“What the fuck is going on, Trip? You said you’d explain.” Sabrina demanded as she followed him into the room.

“And I will. I promise, but first I need you to see FitzSimmons.”

“What’s a FitzSimmons?”

“That would be us, I’m afraid.” Simmons said gently. “Hello. That’s Fitz.” She pointed at him.

“And she’s Simmons. Pleased to meet you,” Fitz added, smiling reassuringly.

“Right.” Sabrina looked at them for a moment and turned back to Trip. “Explanation. Now.”

“FitzSimmons are our technology and medical experts.” Trip explained. “When I set off the EMP, it didn’t just short out your phone, it did something to you, too. We need them to figure out what.”

“An electro-magnetic…? That’s what that thing was? Why the hell would that fuck up my neck and nock me out?” Sabrina asked.

“Our question precisely,” said Simmons. “Now, can you please have a seat and show me where you felt the pain when Agent Triplett activated the EMP?”

Sabrina sat down in the chair Simmons had indicated. She pulled her hair off to the side and felt along the back of her neck. “I think it was...here? Maybe?”

Simmons’s fingers joined Sabrina’s and felt carefully alongside them. “Ah, yes. I believe I can feel something implanted just beneath the skin here. The EMP may have short-circuited it permanently, but we should probably take it out and have a look, just in case. And Fitz might be able to use it to tell us about the...well...you know.”

“Right.” Trip nodded. “Do you need any help?”

Simmons grinned. “I don’t think so, but it’s very kind of you to offer.”

“Any time.” Trip smiled back.

“Hey. Watch the googly eyes. She’s mine.” A new woman entered and leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“That’s Skye.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “She’s a wee bit territorial, as you might have noticed.”

Skye grinned. “I’d say I’m more...protective.” She winked at Fitz, then walked over to Sabrina and held out her hand. “Hi. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Sabrina hesitantly shook her hand. “Hi. I’m Sabrina.”

“Yeah, right...” Skye bit her lower lip and looked away.

“Anyway,” Simmons pushed Skye gently out of the way with her elbow as she carried the tray she had prepared over to the table next to Sabrina. “Skye, here, is simply brilliant with computers. She’s really been key to all of the research that we’ve done on your case.”

“My case?” Sabrina asked.

“Yes. Well, er, I mean...” Simmons looked awkwardly to Skye, Fitz, and Trip in turn and each shrugged. “Actually, I think it’s probably best if we wait for Agent Coulson to explain everything. Meanwhile, if you could just hold still...this may pinch a little.”

“Oh,” Sabrina gasped and then froze.

“Really, Simmons? You froze her? Is that supposed to help us gain her trust?” Trip asked.

“I don’t know! It’s a delicate operation, and she’s quite nervous. I didn’t want to rely on her to stay perfectly still enough that I didn’t cut through any nerves. Or do you think paralyzing her permanently would be a better way to earn trust?” Simmons snapped back.

“Jemma, chill,” Skye said. “Trip didn’t mean anything by it. He was just surprised, that’s all.”

“It’s true.” Trip turned to Simmons. “And I’m sorry. Really. It’s just...been a long day.”

“Apology accepted.” Simmons smiled. “And...” She dropped something into a large petri dish. “Here is the culprit that knocked the poor girl out.”

“Ooh! Let me see!” Fitz carried the dish to his own workstation as Simmons bandaged the wound on Sabrina’s neck.

Taking off her latex gloves, Simmons asked, “Should someone go get Coulson?”

“Actually,” said Coulson from the doorway, “I think we should all go have a chat in the main room. Skye, I’m thinking visuals will be essential for this conversation. Trip, please bring your friend. Fitz, I’m sorry, but the rest of your investigation will have to wait.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Conference Room

Coulson was the last to enter the conference room. He walked over to where Sabrina was sitting and offered his hand to shake. Sabrina took it carefully.

“Hello. I’m Agent Coulson. This is Agent May.” He gestured to his right. “I understand you’ve met the rest of my team?” Sabrina pressed her lips together and shrugged one shoulder. “I apologize for the dramatics, but I am afraid we are dealing with some very dangerous people who have very good reasons not to let you out of their sight.”

Sabrina shivered. “Are you saying that’s where that...that _chip_ in the back of my neck came from? That someone’s been _tracking_ me for some insane reason?”

“They’ve been doing a hell of a lot more than that.” Skye said.

Coulson put up a hand to interrupt her. “Skye, wait. Sabrina, what do you know about the Dollhouse?”

She looked at him in complete confusion for a moment, then her eyes narrowed in understanding. “I don’t suppose you’re talking about the child’s toy?”

“No.”

She nodded slowly. “So, you must mean the urban legend, the ridiculous story about a secret organization in Los Angeles that turns people into slave-puppets for the rich and powerful.”

Coulson nodded. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, lord. Is that what this is? Do you all work for the Dollhouse?”

“No, Sabrina, you do.”

“No.” She stood up. “No, no, no, no, no.” She backed away from him, away from all of them, until she was pressed against the wall. “What you’re saying—it can’t be true. It _isn’t_.” Everyone was silent. Simmons held out hand in reassurance. “This is impossible. You’re all insane!”

Skye’s face was sympathetic as she reached over to the projector’s control panel and began to pull up images. “I know it sucks, but we’re really pretty sure that it’s true. We looked you up, and there’s no record of a ‘Sabrina Atal’ anywhere. There is, however, lots of documentation of you as other people.” As Skye spoke she pulled up picture after picture of Sabrina in different outfits, with different postures, interacting with different people. Some of the images were blurry or from a distance, but all of them clearly showed the same person.

Sabrina let out a hard breath and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor with her legs pulled up to her chest.

“Now it’s possible,” Coulson said, “that you really are the woman in each of these pictures. It’s possible that you remember each and every one of these events, that you chose to become a spy or an actress or an exotic call girl, and that all of this has a completely mundane explanation. Is that the case, Sabrina?”

“No.” The word was just above a whisper.

Coulson’s face softened. “No, I didn’t think so.”

 

 


	2. Part 2

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Cockpit

Sabrina paused at the entrance to the cockpit. “Mind if I join you? I think the agent in flannel is supposed to be watching me, but she keeps making eyes at the one with the ponytail, and it’s more than I can deal with right now. They said I could come up here if it’s okay with you. Please say it’s okay with you.”

“Have a seat.” May nodded to the chair beside her.

Sabrina sat down and looked in fascination first at the control panel and then at the view. “I’ve never been in the front of a plane before. It must be such a rush to fly, to have this huge machine that can take you anywhere you want to go, and it’s under your total control.”

“I’m a fan.” May smiled slightly.

Sabrina nodded and was quiet for a while.

“So,” she eventually said, “You didn’t say much in the meeting back there.”

May shrugged.

Sabrina continued, “Do you think it’s true? That I’ve been brainwashed and controlled by some secret organization to do god knows what?”

“That’s what it looks like.” May’s eyes were soft.

“Wow.” Sabrina shook her head. “So everything I remember, my entire life, all of it is a lie. I’m just some...some program that they cooked up in a lab for their own enjoyment and stuck into someone else’s body. Nothing— _nothing_ I think or feel is real. _I’m_ not real. I’m just a fucked up figment of some mad scientist’s imagination.” Her voice rose in growing panic.

“Hey. Look at me.” May’s voice was stern. “Breathe. They may have made you, but they do not control you. They messed with your past, and we will make them pay for that, but you have just as much control over your future as anyone else does. Don’t let this revelation take that away from you.”

Sabrina sniffed. “Sure. Yeah, okay. Thanks.” She wiped at her eyes. “Mind if I stay here for a while?”

“If you want.”

*   *   *   *   *

L.A. Dollhouse: DeWitt’s Office

DeWitt paced back and forth across the floor. “This is unacceptable! Completely unacceptable!”

Sierra’s handler cowered on the couch. Langton stood near the window with his arms crossed and his face carefully neutral.

DeWitt stopped in front of the handler. “You! You worthless, little, creep of a man! Not only did you lose your active, you didn’t even manage to let us know that she was gone for over half an hour! What did you do, take a nap?”

“I—I—I—” The man stuttered. “I was watching, I _was_ , but all of my equipment went dead at once, including my phone and the van. It took twenty minutes to find a car that would pick me up, and another fifteen before we managed to get somewhere with actual cell reception. I don’t know what else you expected me to do.”

“Better, Mr. Phelps. I expected you to do better. Now get out of my sight.”

“Yes ma’am.” He scurried to the door.

“Disgusting little man.” DeWitt shivered with revulsion. She took a deep breath, sat down, and carefully crossed her legs. “Well, Mr. Langton. I believe this is your first crisis as head of security that doesn’t involve Echo.”

Langton raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly. “I think you’re right.” He sighed. “It’s clear that the people that took Sierra are professionals. They were well organized and possessed substantial technological resources. They had this planned down to the minute. They may even have arranged the entire situation with Senator Clybourn just so that they could have access to an Active.”

“Obviously.” DeWitt pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “The question is: who are they working for? We are supposed to have eyes and ears in every major organization. Is this some new player joining the game? Some foreign military or business power perhaps? Or something completely different?”

“Our background investigation indicated that the client was probably a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Perhaps he’s still with some fragment of that organization?”

“Possible, but unlikely. The people with real power at S.H.I.E.L.D. have all claimed new alliances. I doubt any remaining splinter groups would have the resources to pull this off, let alone the gall to take us on. Now, Hydra, on the other hand, might have the connections. I know we had certain arrangements with them when they were still a covert operation, but it’s possible that their strategies have shifted with their new visibility. You will look into it?”

“Of course, ma’am.” Langton nodded stiffly.

“And Mr. Langton?”

“Yes?”

“It is essential that we see Sierra returned as soon as possible. As you may know, she has a...devoted client who has scheduled an engagement with her in a few weeks’ time. We know from past experience that he will not accept any substitutes, and we would hate to disappoint him.” DeWitt forced a smile.

“We’ll have to get Sierra back before that, won’t we?” Langton inclined his head and smiled in return.

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Lounge

Skye carried over a tray with a new round of drinks and passed them out to Fitz, Trip, and Simmons before settling on the arm of Simmons’s chair.

“Okay, Trip, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to ask the question we’ve all been dying to know the answer to: are you really, you know, asexual, or was that all just a part of being undercover?” Skye asked.

Trip snorted. “Well, I’m not fond of this mission making my sexuality everybody’s business, but yeah. Yeah, I think I really am.”

Skye nodded thoughtfully, Fitz let out a groan, and Simmons smiled knowingly. Trip looked back and forth between them suspiciously.

“Wait a minute. You didn’t—? Did you make a bet about this?”

“Absolutely not.” Fitz shook his head.

“Pshhh. No. Of course not.” Skye looked offended.

“We would never—” Simmons paused and then sighed. “Yes. Yes we did. I am sorry. It was horrid of us, and both of you owe me twenty quid.”

“Is that like twenty dollars?” Skye teased.

“Rather more at the current exchange rate, I believe.” Simmons grinned at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it out of you later.” Simmons shoved at Skye, and Skye retaliated by falling across her lap. After much pushing and adjusting they ended up cuddled together on the chair with Skye’s arm around Simmons’s shoulders and Skye’s legs sprawled over Simmons’s lap.

“Good lord. Show some respect.” Fitz scowled. “The man is trying to come to terms with his newfound sexuality and the two of you are all...” He flapped his hands exaggeratedly.

“What’s the matter, Fitz? Jealous?” Skye asked. She put her free hand on top of Simmons’s where it was resting on her knee. Fitz glared.

Simmons rolled her eyes. “Now, don’t you two start that again. It’s utterly ridiculous, and you both know it. I’m so sorry, Trip.”

Trip laughed. “Hey, I’m good. I’d just as soon not have the attention on me.”

“Okay, but can I ask you a general question about S.H.I.E.L.D. operations?” Skye said.

“Shoot.”

“This is gonna sound weird, but...do you think S.H.I.E.L.D. intentionally hires people who are aromantic and/or asexual as specialists?”

“What?” Trip asked.

“Well, you know, it might make sense. It would be one less potential distraction for them—one less way that an enemy could manipulate them.” Sky explained.

“Or,” Fitz added. “It could be an example of self-selection. I mean, it’s possible that people on those spectrums are more likely to choose that career path, since it is one that tends to make romantic and sexual relationships more difficult to establish or maintain.”

“Yeah, sure. Or that.” Skye agreed.

“I think I missed something,” Trip said. “Where is this coming from?”

Fitz explained, “Well, you’re asexual and Ward was asexual—or possibly aromantic. It’s a very small sample size, of course, but it’s also a rather rare orientation, so the combination could be considered statistically significant.”

“Plus,” said Skye, “When Ward talked about it he specifically said that they don’t cover flirting and stuff in your training, and the way he said it made it seem like that might be intentional.”

“Uh huh.” Trip looked back and forth between them and then sighed. “Look, Ward is one messed-up dude, and I’m not gonna pretend to know what goes on in that mind of his. I can tell you, however, that he and I had a lot of the same training, and if he said there was no training addressing—what did you call it? 'Flirting and stuff?'—he was full of shit.”

“Figures. Asshole.” Skye muttered.

Fitz sighed.

“Really?” Simmons asked. “You mean you actually had classes in seduction techniques? That’s fascinating.”

“Well, the official class title was ‘Applied Social Psychology: The Study of Influence and Persuasion,’ but we covered all, ah, forms of communication.”

“Uh-huh,” Simmons nodded thoughtfully. “Was there a practicum?” She leaned forwards eagerly.

“Jemma!” Fitz was shocked. Skye tried to smother her giggles.

“What? Flirtation and improvisation are areas that I have struggled with in the field, and Trip just told us there are actual classes on the subject. Why shouldn’t I be excited at the prospect?” Simmons looked to Skye for reassurance.

Skye swallowed and tried to make her face look serious and supportive. “Jem, Trip just told us he’s asexual. Don’t you think classes on flirting and sex might have been more than a little awkward for him?”

“Oh.” Simmons blushed with embarrassment. “Oh, Trip. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, and...and that’s no excuse. Was it terribly unpleasant for you?”

Trip smiled and shook his head. “Hey, don’t worry about it. They didn’t go full ‘Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life’ on us. I’m pretty sure that would have gone outside everyone’s comfort zone. They kept the hardcore stuff academic, but we did have applied workshops on initial social interactions—great practice and very concrete, specific feedback on everything from word choice and tone to posture and facial expressions. I think you would have liked it. I can see if I have any of my old readings, if you want.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Trip.” Simmons smiled at him and then stuck her tongue out at Fitz, who made a face back at her.

“Okay.” Skye clapped her hands together. “Less talking, more drinking! Whose turn is it to get the next round? Jemma? Fitz?”

*   *   *   *   *

L.A. Dollhouse: Topher’s Lab

“I don’t think you fully comprehend the seriousness of the situation, Boyd!” Topher cried.

“I understand it’s serious,” Langton said calmly. “Sierra’s been gone for over a week now, and the conventional wisdom would say that every passing hour makes us less and less likely to find her. But our resources aren’t exactly conventional.”

“Conventional wisdom is _so_ not what I’m talking about right now!” Topher wrung his hands together. “I’m talking about the kind of problems conventional wisdom couldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole and a HAZMAT suit! I’m talking, man-friend, about the potential for imprint decay. I’m talking about the scientific unknown but almost certainly very, very _bad_. Is any of this getting through your thick skull?”

“Almost none of it.” Boyd furrowed his brow. “Imprint decay? That’s not a term I’ve heard you use before.”

“That’s because it didn’t have an application before. At least, not to any significant degree. See, any imprint will eventually decay—nothing lasts forever and all that, and the more different personalities you sew together the shorter the shelf life tends to be. There are ways to work around that and make imprints more durable—like I did when I designed the imprint that turned November into Agent Ballard’s lady-friend—”

“Melly.”

“Yeah, her. But that takes time and effort and other things I only have in limited supply, so usually when I create an imprint I don’t plan for a lifetime of use, you know? I mean, I take into account the estimated length of the engagement and then round up—way, way up, so any decay is double-platinum guaranteed to be completely and utterly unnoticeable, barring any extreme or unforeseen circumstances. But these circumstances, my friend, were completely invisible to all of my predictions. Sierra’s engagement was supposed to last about six hours. Her imprint should have been totally solid for two or three days. That should have been plenty of overkill.”

“Two or three days? That would have run out yesterday.” Langton pointed out.

“Exactamundo! Now do you comprehend my blinding panic?”

“I’m starting to. So what does the decay look like in practice?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? It’s kind of like asking, what does crazy look like? Different things to different people my friend, different things to different people. Sometimes Actives start to find holes in their memories or places where their remembered experiences contradict each other. Sometimes they glitch with increasing frequency and severity. Sometimes they just space out, lost in their own minds. Actually, we’ve never let it get much past the first stages—bad for the Actives and all—so, when we do find Sierra, it’ll be fascinating to observe what the effects have been. Accidents advancing science and all that.”

“If she’s okay,” Langton prompted.

“Yeah, of course. If she’s okay.” Topher nodded distractedly. “I wonder which functions will go first? Language? Gross motor control? The body has a history of schizophrenia, so I guess that might come into play. Oh, man. Her mind splitting back into its component pieces as she starts to question reality itself. What if— _what if_ she knows what’s happening? Like, not the details—I’m 99 percent sure they don’t know any details to tell her—but the big picture. Brain washing, manipulation, conspiracies. If she knows they’re all real, does that slow her descent into madness, or accelerate it? Only time will tell, I suppose.”

“But first we need to get her back.” Langton said.

“Right. That’s my point. Exactly my point. We need to get her back soon. If she dies and her brain turns to mush we won’t be able to learn anything at all. Well—” Topher tilted his head. “I might be able to salvage some knowledge. I’d hate for her to have died in vain. But, yeah. Better alive. Much better alive.” He turned to look at Langton. “Well, what are you waiting for, Boyd? Hop to it! Go! Go get her!”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: Jemma and Skye’s Room

Skye looked up from where she was sprawled on her bunk with her computer on her lap to see Sabrina standing awkwardly in her doorway.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I—I’ve decided that I’m ready to learn who I am—I mean...who I was—before the Dollhouse. Agent May said you were the person to ask.”

“She did, huh?” Sky nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that’s fair. I gotta warn you, though, there’s not a lot we know for sure. It’s all kind of pieced together from what you—she—had posted online, and she seems to have spent a lot of time staying off the grid.”

“I understand, just...anything you can tell me. Please.”

“Okay. C’mere.” Skye turned to sit sideways on her bunk and patted the space next to her. “This is what we know: Your name was Priya Tsetsang. Your parents were Lara and Sudhir Tetsang. You grew up in rural Australia. Your parents died in a car crash when you were twenty. You studied art at the University of Sydney, but dropped out soon after your parents’ death. You came to the states a couple of years ago. You were a painter whose work featured bright colors and images of birds. Does any of this ring a bell?”

Sabrina shook her head. “None of it. My family lived in Australia when I was younger, but we were in Brisbane. I’ve never been to Sydney. And the rest of it...it’s insane! I’m no artist; I can barely draw stick figures. I lost points in o-chem because my molecular diagrams were so lopsided.” She was visibly shaken.

“Whoa. Take a deep breath. I know it sounds crazy. Believe me; I’ve had some experience myself with the whole life-turned-upside-down, everything-you-know-is-wrong, who-am-I-really mindfuck. Just breathe. You’ll adjust eventually, and we’ll be here for you while you do. I promise. I think that’s probably enough for today, though.”

“Enough for today? There’s more?”

“Uh...yeah. But it’s kind of...intense. I think it might be too much—”

“I don’t care.” Sabrina interrupted. “Tell me all of it. I just don’t want to wonder anymore.”

“Okay.” Skye took a deep breath. “About a year ago you—I mean Priya—was institutionalized with a severe case of paranoid schizophrenia. The records are a bit patchy, but we’re pretty sure just after that is when the Dollhouse took you.”

“So you’re saying I was schizophrenic, and the Dollhouse cured me?”

Skye shrugged. “That’s one explanation. The other possibility is that they faked your symptoms to make it easier to abduct you. We can’t say for certain, but most of the evidence seems to support option number two.”

Sabrina sat in silent thought for a minute. “Paranoid schizophrenia causes hallucinations, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. You should probably check with Simmons about the medical stuff. Why?”

“Well, that would be a third possible explanation: I’m still insane and all of this—” her gesture included Skye, the computer, the plane, and everything else around them, “is only happening in my head.”

Skye bit her lower lip and raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Uh, I guess that’s possible...I mean I know that we’re real and this is happening, but I totally get that that’s exactly what you’d expect a hallucination to say. Total Catch-22, man. Huh. Yeah, I’d definitely say you should go talk to Jem—I mean, Simmons—about it. Hopefully she can clear everything up.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Med Bay

“That is utterly ridiculous.” Simmons shook her head and laughed, but calmed quickly when she saw the anger and hurt on Sabrina’s face. “I’m sorry, but it _is_ completely impossible. Contrary to what popular culture would have you believe, schizophrenic hallucinations simply don’t work that way. In most cases they are purely auditory, and, even if they do integrate multiple senses, they still build on top of the existing reality. The chances of your mind imagining everything that has happened since you boarded this plan while your body is confined to a mental institution range from negligible to non-existent. It should honestly not be a concern.”

Sabrina looked unconvinced. “Well, I’m glad you’re not worried about it.”

“Honestly, you’re quite sane at the moment, I promise. I ran a preliminary analysis of your brain’s chemical and electrical activity when you first arrived, and I can assure you that everything looked perfectly normal. If it would make you feel better I could run all of the tests again? I’ll explain each one as we go, and I promise to go over the results with you in detail when we get them back.”

Sabrina looked at her hands. “Fine. You can run the tests or whatever. Just...don’t bullshit me, okay? My background is in bio-chem not psych, but I work at Rossum—or, at least, I think I do. I’m intimately familiar with all of the latest neurochemical research. I know there aren’t any laboratory tests that can diagnose schizophrenia. So don’t fuck with me, okay?”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, I had actually forgotten your area of expertise. You’ll be quite excited to see what we’ve got, then! I’m sure Rossum’s quite advanced for a civilian corporation, but thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D. we’ve got access to technology that the private sector can only dream about. This, for example—” Simmons pushed some buttons and panels popped out on both sides of the examining table. “Can give us a functional analysis of your entire nervous system. With your cooperation, of course.”

Sabrina looked interested in spite of herself. “Cool. And you’ll let me see all of the results once we’re done?”

“Absolutely!” Simmons smiled, trying to look reassuring.

*   *   *   *   *

L.A. Dollhouse: DeWitt’s Office

“Well, Mr. Langton,” DeWitt clasped her hands in front of herself. “What do you have to report?”

Langton licked his lips. “Not as much as I’d like, I’m afraid. We have managed to definitively identify the organization that took Sierra. They are a small group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who seem to have continued field operations with minimal interruption after the organization was officially disbanded. From what we can tell, they were operating with an unusually high degree of autonomy even before the events in D.C., and now they’ve become completely autonomous.”

“I see. I presume their small size is the excuse for our lack of a contact within their organization?”

“Pretty much, ma’am. I’m sure that, from their perspective, they’re avoiding possible Hydra agents, but they’re steering clear of our agents as well. I am reaching out to other houses to see if any of them have contacts that might prove useful,” Langton said.

“Well, presumably they have some sort of clandestine home base. Have you been able to identify likely locations for it?”

“That’s the other problem. As far as we can tell, they operate completely out of their private jet. They never register a flight plan. They only notify an airport that they intend to land fifteen to twenty minutes before the landing itself. With the entire world to choose from, we simply don’t have the resources to monitor all possible airports and react in a useful time frame.”

“Even with—?”

“Yes, even with the cooperation of the other houses.”

“Damn. Well, then, we shall have to be more creative. You’ll keep me updated?”

“Of course,” Langton agreed.

There was a knock on the door, and Topher stuck his head in.

“Am I interrupting? Yes? No? Good, you’re both here.” He stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned back against it.

They both looked at him for a long moment. He looked from one to the other blankly.

Finally DeWitt raised her eyebrows. “Did you want something?”

“Yes! Right! It’s the Dolls!”

“The Dolls.” DeWitt echoed dryly.

“Yeah! The Dolls!” Topher’s eyes shifted back and forth, and he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. “I think they’re catching on.”

“Catching on...to what, exactly?” she asked.

“To the fact that Sierra’s missing. See, at first I thought it was normal. You know how Sierra and Victor have kind of, uh, latched onto each other, I guess? So, I wasn’t that surprised when he started asking me, ‘Will Sierra be coming back today?’ Except, then I thought about it, and it is pretty damn surprising. He asks me every day—every freaking day, like clockwork! First thing every morning he asks, and I say, ‘Not today,’ and he gives me the sad, puppy-dog eyes before going on with his day.”

DeWitt took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I see. That is concerning. Is that all?”

“No...” Topher looked at Langton, then DeWitt, then back to Langton and reached out in apology. “I’m sorry, man, but it’s Echo. Of course it’s Echo! When is it ever not Echo? Something weird happens, and even if she doesn’t have anything to do with it you turn around and she’s _right there_ , you know?”

“What did she do that was so strange?” Langton asked.

“Nothing? Everything? I don’t know. She came up to me the other day and said, ‘Sierra has been gone a long time.’ I said something brilliant and noncommittal and she followed up with ‘Is Sierra in trouble?’” Topher gestured at his audience emphatically and was clearly frustrated by their lack of reaction.

“I feel like I’m missing something.” Langton admitted.

“‘Trouble?!’ Dolls don’t know what trouble is! Why is Echo asking about it? Dolls come and go all of the time, and Echo’s been imprinted and wiped half a dozen times since Sierra was taken. How can she know that this absence is any different than normal? I mean, with Victor it’s a day-to-day thing, but this? With Echo? It’s long-term memory. Dolls _don’t have_ long-term memory. What the hell? And then today, when Ballard brought her in for her treatment, she asked me to make her able to ‘help Sierra, please.’ What am I supposed to say to that, huh? It’s downright creepy, and I don’t creep easily.”

DeWitt pressed at the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank you, Topher, for sharing your concerns. We all know that Echo’s behavior has been outside normal parameters for quite some time now, and her encounter with Alpha only exacerbated the problem. For now, I think patience and careful observation are the most appropriate response. Please let me know at once if there are any other changes in Doll behavior.”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay...” Topher furrowed his brow and rubbed at the back of his head. “If that’s what you think is best. I’ll make sure to keep you posted, boss-lady!”

“Thank you.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Right. Dismissed. Cheerio!” Topher gave a mock salute and left the room.

DeWitt turned to Langton. “Find Sierra, Mr. Langton, and find her quickly. I will not lose a Doll, and I certainly will not allow my entire house to fall into disorder because some second-rate, pseudo-government agents have developed delusions of grandeur.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Lounge

“Hey.” Trip sat down in the chair across from Simmons.

Simmons put down her book and looked up. “Oh. Hello. It really is good to have you back, Trip.” She smiled at him earnestly.

“Thanks.” He smiled back. “It’s good to be back. So...I heard Sabrina came and talked to you?”

“Yeah. She asked Skye about her original identity, and I’m afraid the bit about the schizophrenia really threw her for a loop.”

“Oh man, I bet.”

“She seems to be doing better now, though. We got into quite a detailed discussion about some of our more complex scanning equipment. I suspected the intricacies of neuroscience might help her gain some distance and objectivity about her situation, and her attitude upon leaving indicated that I definitely made the right choice.”

“Good, that’s good.” Trip pressed his lips together. “Not to get all egocentric on you, but did she say anything about me?”

“Not that I recall. Why?” Simmons asked.

“Nothing serious in the scheme of things. It’s just...she’s been avoiding me since we came onboard, and I wondered if she’d mentioned anything to you.”

“Oh, honestly—” Simmons shook her head. “I’m sure she isn’t—”

“Simmons, I appreciate the effort, but it’s really not that big a plane.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” she sighed.

Trip shrugged. “Hey, I get it. From her perspective, I’m the one that dragged her into this mess. I wouldn’t want to hang out with me either.”

“It’s not like that.” Sabrina said as she stepped into the room, Fitz following behind her and shrugging helplessly. “I just needed some time to think. It’s a lot to process, you know?”

Trip and Simmons both nodded.

“So,” Sabrina said to Trip, “Can we talk?”

Simmons stood up. “We’ll just...give you two some space. Let me know if you need anything, either of you.” She looked from one to the other, took Fitz by the arm and pulled him out with her and he mouthed apologies at Trip.

Sabrina sat down in the seat Simmons had just vacated. She looked down at the floor for a long moment before her eyes finally met Trip’s.

“I don’t blame you for bringing me here.”

Trip let out a breath in relief.

Sabrina continued, “I blame you for creating me in the first place.”

Trip stared. “The hell? I didn’t—”

“What? Create me?” Sabrina glared at him and shook her head. “Fine. What’s your verb of choice? Designed, imagined, requested...Whatever you call it, the fact remains: everything in my head right now—everything that makes me _me_ —is there because you went into _that place_ and asked for...what? What _exactly_ did you ask for Trip?”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“You…don’t know,” she repeated. “You _don’t know_? What the hell is that supposed to mean? If I liked you and enjoyed you company, was that programmed into me? What about my asexuality? What about all of the relationships that I remember falling apart because physical intimacy didn’t work for me? Is all of that just so you could have a convenient excuse to not fuck the poor, dumb, brainwashed girl?”

“Hey! I didn’t even know about—”

“Right. I forgot. You’d never heard the word before we met.” She looked skeptical. “Say I believe you, what’s the alternative explanation? It’s a crazy coincidence? Some scientist’s idea of a practical joke? Or maybe I’m just there as inspiration for you to learn about your sexuality. I’m just a plot device, a mechanical tour guide on your voyage of self-discovery. Is that _better_ somehow?”

She stood there, taking heaving breaths and fighting back tears.

“Family-oriented,” Trip said quietly.

“What?” Sabrina looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Family-oriented,” he said slightly louder. “It’s what I asked for. I was there for the mission, I had to ask for something, and so that’s what I said I wanted: someone family-oriented who was nice and smart with a snarky sense of humor and an interest in the world around them. They asked about my ideal encounter, and I said hanging somewhere low-stress, like a coffee shop, a museum, or a hike. I’ll admit that last one came from the ulterior motive of easy extraction, but I was just trying to be honest with the rest. At that point, I didn’t understand what it would mean in practice. I didn’t really believe they could reprogram a person like that. I’m sorry. I get why it’s messing with your head, but I don’t know what else we could have done.”

She stood and turned away from him. “Thank you for explaining,” she said tightly. “It’s not okay, and I’m not okay, but I appreciate your honesty. I’ll appreciate it even more if you stay the fuck away from me.”

Trip watched her walk away and sighed.

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Med Bay

“Thank you all for coming, “ Simmons said quietly. The rest of the team took the cue to huddle closer. “Is Sabrina—?”

“Occupied? Yup.” Skye nodded. “I left her in the bunk, totally engrossed in the new season of _Game of Thrones_.”

“Really?” Coulson asked.

“Hey,” Skye shrugged. “She asked for it. It may not be light and fluffy, but at least it shouldn’t remind her of her own problems.”

“Speaking of which—?” May nodded towards Simmons.

Simmons took a deep breath. “Right. So, as you know, I ran several diagnostic tests on Sabrina when she first arrived. As you can see here—” she pulled up a complex set of graphs and figures, “the results were all well within normal range.” She looked at the others expectantly.

“We’ll take your word for it,” May said.

“Right. So, a couple of days ago, Sabrina found out about her original identity—specifically that she apparently had a history of paranoid schizophrenia. She came to me with concerns about her current mental health, so we ran a more comprehensive series of tests. These were the results.” She entered a command and a second set of data appeared on each of the graphs.

“Tell us what we’re looking at her, Simmons,” Coulson said.

“Well, all of the green here indicates values within one standard deviation of the national norm, yellow and orange are intermediate values, and the red indicates two or more standard deviations from the norm.”

“Wow,” Skye said. “Those new values have a shit-ton of red.”

Simmons nodded. “Precisely. The shift from statistically normal to extreme is quite dramatic.”

Fitz tilted his head thoughtfully. “But the human brain is an exceptionally dynamic system, and this has been a time of extreme stress for Sabrina. Surely some change is to be expected between measures.”

“Of course.” Simmons nodded. “But this degree of change? In such a short time frame?” Simmons shook her head. “It’s completely unprecedented. And to be honest, I’m not certain how to even begin to classify these new results. They’re quite distinct from the documented cases of paranoid schizophrenia that I’ve seen, but they don’t seem to map onto any other recorded diagnoses. If I had to hazard an explanation, I’d say it’s almost like her brain is falling apart.”

In the stunned silence that followed Simmons’s announcement they all heard a gasp from the doorway. They turned and saw Sabrina’s face shift from horror to fury.

“So, your tests say my mind is falling apart, huh? How convenient for you! When I’m paranoid or upset, it isn’t because I’ve just found out my life is a lie. It isn’t because I’ve been promised complete transparency and then kept out of secret meetings about _my_ brain chemistry. No, of course not. It’s nothing you can control or affect. It’s fucking inevitable and all because of the evil Dollhouse! Well, maybe you should just take me back there, because you all sure as hell can’t do shit to help me.” She stormed out.

“Well, fuck,” said Skye.

Coulson nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”

They all looked at each other.

“I hate to say it,” Trip said. “But are we going to talk about the possibility that she’s right?”

Simmons shook her head. “I can’t accept that. We have technology, resources, contacts. There must be something we can do. I’m sure of it. We just need to try harder, and she’ll come around. Right?”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Cockpit

May found Sabrina in the co-pilot’s seat with her knees pulled up to her chest.

“I don’t want to talk,” Sabrina said flatly.

“Fine with me.” May sat in the pilot’s seat and checked all of the course settings before leaning back.

They sat in silence for a long time.

Finally, Sabrina said quietly, “I don’t really want to go back to the Dollhouse.”

May looked over at her, looked forward again, and nodded. “I know.”

“It’s just this...all of this...is driving me crazy. Nothing in my life is real, and just as I thought I was coming to terms with that, I find out my brain is coming apart at the seams. One minute, I’m so angry I can’t think; the next minute, I’m terrified. Sometimes I’m numb, like all my emotions just shut down, but then I’m screaming and laughing and bawling my eyes out. And the whole time I can’t tell: Is it the situation? Is it my fucked-up brain? Both? Neither? Who the hell knows? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” Sabrina looked at May imploringly.

May just looked at her sadly.

“Well?” Sabrina demanded. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“Nothing to say. It’s a horrible situation. We’ll do everything we can to help you, if you’ll let us,” May said quietly.

“That’s it? What happened to, ‘They don’t control you’? What happened to, ‘You have as much control over your future as anybody else’?”

May’s eyes hardened. “You have free will. That never guaranteed a happy ending.”

Sabrina bit her lip and turned away to look out the window.

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: Coulson’s Office

“Um, there may be a bit of a problem.” Fitz stood fidgeting in the doorway.

“What’s up?” Coulson asked.

Fitz sighed. “It’s Sabrina. It was my turn to stay with her. We were discussing childhood pets.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow.

Fitz shrugged. “I thought it might be a welcome distraction from her ongoing mental deterioration. She seemed to enjoy describing her two parakeets. The family named them Watson and Crick, which I thought was quite clever. I told her about our family cat named Wittgenstein—Jemma calls him ‘Wiggy’. And then Sabrina said she grew up with a cat named Pallas—”

“Is there a point to this, Fitz?”

“I’m getting there. So I asked how the cat got along with the birds. I mean, it’s the obvious question, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Coulson hesitantly agreed.

“She had a complete meltdown! And it wasn’t because the cat had eaten the birds or something equally traumatic. At least, I don’t think so. I’m fairly certain the cat and the birds never coexisted in the first place; the pets belonged to two different personas. The result must have replicated normal cognitive dissonance, but increased exponentially to intolerable levels.”

“Where is she now?” Coulson asked.

Fitz’s eyes were wide, and his voice was increasingly urgent. “She ran into the holding cell and barricaded the door. She said she won’t let anyone in but you. We could probably force it open, but who knows what she might do in response. Hurt herself, hurt one of us...I’m so very sorry, sir. It was my turn to keep an eye on her, and I’ve messed everything up—”—“

“Fitz. Breathe,” Coulson snapped.

Fitz shut his mouth and held his breath for a moment, then exhaled in a rush and nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Good man.” Coulson pressed his lips together. “Any idea why I’m the one she wants to see?”

Fitz shook his head.

Coulson sighed. “Okay. Well, I’ll go talk to her. See if I can get her to calm down. You get the others in front of the observation screen. I don’t want us to crowd her, but I am going to want the whole team’s feedback on this.”

“Yes, sir.” Fitz turned to leave.

“And Fitz?”

Fitz looked back over his shoulder.

“You did the right thing in coming to get me.”

Fitz smiled slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Conference Room

Skye, Simmons, Fitz, Trip, and May all stood huddled around the holotable staring at the projection of the scene inside the holding cell. They watched as Sabrina dragged the table away from the door to let Coulson in. He entered slowly with his empty hands outstretched to show that he meant no harm.

Sabrina backed sideways and away from him until she was against the wall. He was careful to leave a large space between them as he walked farther into the room. When they were about even with each other Sabrina suddenly grabbed a chair, dodged around him, and slammed it repeatedly into the room’s control panel. The panel exploded in a shower of electric sparks, the door slammed closed, and an alarm started blaring. Coulson jumped back; then visibly calmed himself.

“Turn it off Fitz!” May yelled.

He hurried to comply.

“What the hell just happened?” Skye demanded.

“It’s the holding cell,” Fitz explained. “It’s programmed to treat any attack on the control panel as an escape attempt, so it’s gone into lockdown mode.”

“Well, fuck.”

He shrugged helplessly.

The team turned back to the display screen. They could see Coulson’s mouth moving, and May gestured to Skye to turn the sound up.

“…a difficult situation, Sabrina, but you need to trust us. We just want to help you.”

“ _Sabrina?_ ” Sabrina dropped the chair and let out a laugh that had more than an edge of hysteria. “Be careful, Agent. You’re talking to people that aren’t real. I’m pretty sure that’s the first sign of insanity. Better go get your head examined.”

Coulson’s face softened. “Sabrina, just because the Dollhouse manipulated you doesn’t mean that you aren’t real.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, no. Priya Tsetsang was real. Then the Dollhouse manipulated—hell, killed—her. I’m just a haphazard mix of memories they threw into her skull. And you know that, so why the fuck are you pretending otherwise? Are you screwing with me on purpose, or do you just think I’m that stupid?”

“I don’t—we aren’t—”

“Bullshit,” she scoffed. “You couldn’t even respect my simple request to come talk to me alone.”

“There’s no one else here.”

She looked at him skeptically. “But they’re all watching and listening. Don’t try to pretend otherwise; I’m crazy, not stupid. The corners have eyes and the walls have ears, but obviously my brain chemistry is the only thing making me paranoid.”

Coulson pressed his lips together in thought; then looked directly up at one of the cameras. “May?”

May sighed and pressed the intercom. “Yes?”

“I need you to turn off all monitoring devices in this room—audio, visual, infrared, everything.”

“Coulson, if you think there’s any way I’m just going to leave you alone—”

“May, do it. That’s an order.”

Fitz turned off the intercom. “Actually, if we just switched the transmitters to unidirectional functionality, there’s no way that either one of them could possibly know—”

“And don’t just turn the intercom off!” Coulson added. “Sabrina’s right. If we want her to trust us, we need to be completely honest and show some trust ourselves. Don’t make me a liar.”

May turned the intercom on again. “Fine. You have thirty minutes of complete privacy. After that we’re coming in, no arguments.”

“Thanks. See you in thirty.”

Coulson nodded to the camera and Fitz reluctantly turned the monitoring system off completely.

Skye looked at May in shock. “We aren’t seriously going to leave him alone with her?”

“Coulson can take care of himself,” May answered. “And we’re going to trust him to do exactly that for the next—”she paused for a moment“—twenty-eight and a half minutes.”

Skye opened her mouth to argue, but May cut her off. “Fitz, Skye, figure out the fastest, safest way for us to cancel the lockdown and get that door open at a second’s notice. Simmons, get back to analyzing Sabrina’s brain scans; understanding exactly what they did to her is still the main goal of this mission. Trip, you’re with me. We’re going to wait right outside that door. If we hear anything even resembling a problem then we’re going in.”

Trip raised an eyebrow. “But Coulson said—”

May shrugged. “He said no audio devices. Our ears don’t count. Let’s go.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Holding Cell

The door slid open to reveal May and Trip standing with false casualness—relaxed and non-threatening and ready for anything.

“Twenty-nine minutes and fifteen seconds,” May’s voice was matter-of-fact.

Coulson pushed between the two of them and headed for the cockpit. “We need to change course. Now.”

“Well, thanks for not making us wait,” Trip tried for levity.

Coulson gave no sign that he had heard. May and Trip made eye contact. She tilted her head, indicating that he should check on Sabrina while she followed Coulson. Trip nodded in acknowledgement and entered the cell.

He was surprised to find Sabrina sitting in a chair in the corner staring at the wall. He approached her cautiously, but her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead. Trip leaned in front of Sabrina and tried to make eye contact. Her eyes didn’t move, and her face showed no recognition. He waved his hand in front of her face and then took her by the shoulder and shook her gently. No reaction. Trip swore under his breath then took a seat next to Sabrina and called Simmons and the rest of the team in for backup.

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Cockpit

May followed Coulson into the cockpit and watched as he adjusted the autopilot.

“The Antelope Valley? Really? That’s awfully close to L.A., considering our passenger.”

Coulson shrugged and continued fine-tuning the flight path.

“Coulson! Hey!” May snapped her fingers next to his face. “Look at me! What’s going on?”

Coulson jerked as though he’d fallen half asleep. He blinked and shook his head as though to clear it, then he turned and looked at May.

“May. Sorry.” He shook his head again. “My conversation with Sabrina got...intense. Her condition is deteriorating quickly.”

“So we’re going to California because—what? We’re giving up? We’re returning her to that _place_ , hoping they can help her where we failed?”

Coulson looked confused. “What? No, of course not. Not yet, anyway. We have at least one more card to play first.”

May gestured for him to continue.

“I’ve got a contact in the valley. I’d almost forgotten about him—he cut all ties with S.H.I.E.L.D. a decade ago and largely dropped off the grid. But in this case, well, I’m betting he’ll find this Dollhouse case too fascinating to pass up.”

May nodded. “Okay. What’s the plan? You take Trip and Skye for backup and Simmons for her bio expertise, leaving Fitz and me to man the plane in case you need a quick get away?”

Coulson pressed his lips together. “No...if I show up with a team, my contact will bolt before he hears what we have to say. I need to go in with just me and Sabrina. I’ll have Skye help me pull all the relevant data onto a drive. I’ll contact the rest of you once I’ve explained the situation to him.”

“That plan puts you in the high desert with a contact you haven’t heard from in years, an acquaintance who’d not-so-slowly losing her mind, and no backup. You don’t see a problem with that?”

“I know him, May. This is the only way he might listen. You have to accept that it’s our best chance.”

May sighed and clenched her jaw. “Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

“Fine.” Coulson turned away from her. “Let’s tell the rest of the team.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: Jemma and Skye’s Room

Skye slid into the room and carefully shut the door behind her.

“So, what’s the plan? There’s no way we’re really going along with this craziness, right?” Skye asked.

May pressed her lips together and looked around at the rest of the team. “Where’s Sabrina?”

“Out cold in the med bay,” Simmons answered. “I gave her something to help her sleep; it seemed like the kindest option.”

“And Coulson?”

Skye shrugged. “I set up the download for him, but made it so that he has to manually select each file. Jemma flagged a ton of them, so he should be there for a while.”

“Good.” May let out a breath.

“I, for one, have to say that I’m deeply uncomfortable with meeting behind Coulson’s back like this,” Fitz said.

Trip sighed. “I have to agree. He’s more than earned our trust. Any concerns we have should be discussed with him directly.”

“Tried that; didn’t work.” May crossed her arms. “He’s not acting like himself. I’m concerned that this might be the side effects from T.A.H.I.T.I. finally showing up.”

Fitz glared at her. “That’s what you said last time, if I recall correctly. And not only was Coulson right about following those numbers, he turned out to be right about Fury being alive as well. What makes this time any different?”

“Hey,” Skye broke in. “None of this is May’s fault! All of us doubted Coulson last time, and yes, in that situation he turned out to be right, but that doesn’t mean that he’s magically infallible.”

“Not all of us,” Fitz muttered under his breath.

“Hush.” Simmons nudged him with her shoulder. “The situation is difficult enough without us snapping at one another. May, can you explain what lead you to your conclusion?”

May licked her lips. “Little things, mostly. The way he brushed past us after he met with Sabrina. The fact that he hasn’t asked about her condition once since then.” She looked to the side, then looked back at the team and lifted her chin. “He’s terse, won’t even tell me the contact’s name. Last time he had a reason to be mad at me, but this time—” She shrugged. “And the Dollhouse? Memory manipulation? How could that not tie back to T.A.H.I.T.I.?”

“I’m sold,” Skye said.

“I’m not saying there isn’t something weird going on,” Trip began, “Because obviously there is. But I don’t see what the alternative is. We can’t just do nothing. We—I—got Sabrina into this mess, and we owe it to her to do anything we can to help her. Last I heard, Coulson’s mystery contact was the only option on the table.”

“That doesn’t mean we should let him take Sabrina in alone,” Skye said.

“Coulson can take care of himself,” Trip said. “So, if that’s the only way to keep his contact from running...”

Simmons bit her bottom lip. “If only there was some way to send backup without Coulson’s contact knowing they were there. They could help support Coulson, and step in if he does start acting odd.”

“Yes.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be nice if—wait! That might actually be possible! One of the devices I found in the Playground utilizes an updated version of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cloaking technology. It couldn’t cover an object the size of a car or the plane, but it could probably handle a motorcycle. Do we still have one in the cargo bay?”

“Damn straight!” Trip grinned. “I’ve been hoping for an excuse to use that beauty.”

May smiled slightly. “I hope you’re as excited about riding in the passenger seat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Trip amended.

“So.” Fitz clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Who’s going to tell Coulson?”

They all looked at him sadly, and he drooped.

“Fitz,” Skye said, “We’d love to tell him, really, but we don’t know where his head is at. What does it hurt if we let him think he’s going alone? At worst, he’s pleasantly surprised when the team appears out of nowhere and saves his ass.”

Simmons nodded. “And this way he won’t feel like he’s lying to his friend. If everything goes well we can tell him about it afterwards.”

Fitz’s eyes were wide as he looked from one of them to the other, then he turned to Trip. “You still think we should tell Coulson, don’t you? You’re the one that said we should talk to him directly...”

Trip put a reassuring hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I think the ladies have a point.”

Fitz sighed. “Yeah, they usually do. Very well, I’ll help with your dastardly plan, but don’t blame me if it blows up in your faces.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Simmons smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Fitz.” Skye kissed him on the other cheek and winked at Simmons when he blushed. “Now, I’d better go check on Coulson. He should be almost done with the downloads by now.”

“I’ll come with you,” said May.

“Fitz and I will go set up the bike,” said Trip.

“And I’ll go check on Sabrina,” said Simmons. As she walked past Skye on her way out she brushed her hand against Skye’s and briefly tangled their fingers together. Skye gave her hand a squeeze.

“We’re doing the right thing.”

“Yeah,” Simmons sighed. “I hope so.”

            *   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Hangar

Simmons had taken one look at the motorcycle helmets that Fitz had set up with the device, pressed her lips together, and quickly volunteered to help Coulson get Sabrina into Lola and alert the rest of the team as soon as they were gone.

Trip sat behind May on the motorcycle. They wore matching black jackets and stoic expressions and held matching bright pink helmets with fuzzy, neon-green cat ears and large, orange bows attached to them. Skye struggled to keep a straight face as the two agents slowly lifted the helmets and pulled them on their heads.

“Coulson’s out. You’re good to go.” Simmons’s voice crackled over the intercom system. May started the motorcycle engine.

Fitz bit his lower lip nervously. “Are you absolutely sure that we shouldn’t tell Coulson about this? I hate feeling like we’re lying to him—”

“Hey, Fitz,” Skye interrupted quickly, nudging him on the shoulder. “Can you explain again how those helmets are supposed to make them invisible? I mean, they look pretty eye-catching to me. And you turned the device on, right? But I can still see them.”

Fitz turned to look at her. “That’s because you expect to see them. They’ll be quite unnoticeable to anyone else. The flamboyant design is actually an integral part of the technology. It functions on a principal that the late Douglas Adams christened the ‘Somebody-Else’s Problem field’.”

“Wait—Douglas Adams, the sci-fi author?”

“The same. You see, the SEP field avoids many of the difficulties caused by traditional cloaking technology. People are able to see the cloaked object, but their brains prompt them to ignore and forget it as quickly as possible...”

Fitz continued talking animatedly as Skye gently turned him and guided him back into the main body of the plane. May nodded her head and Trip gave Skye a thumbs-up as they rode off in pursuit of Coulson.

*   *   *   *   *

Antelope Valley Freeway, Southern California

Skye and Fitz used Lola’s GPS to guide Trip and May until they got close enough to make visual contact. Minutes later the car turned off onto another highway, and the motorcycle followed. After a few more turns Coulson reached his destination and pulled into the parking lot.

“An _airport_?” May hissed. “What the hell?” She parked the bike in another section of the parking lot, carefully keeping Coulson in view.

“Fitz,” Trip asked over the comm. “If we leave the bike, will we still be hidden?”

Fitz answered, “The field is in the helmets. As long as you keep them on and don’t directly interact with Coulson he shouldn’t notice you.”

“Good,” said May. She and Trip ran towards where they could see Coulson guiding Sabrina into the building.

May and Trip shoved their way through the doors into the almost empty airport. They frantically looked up and down the long corridor and couldn’t see Sabrina or Coulson anywhere. Then they heard Sabrina scream hysterically.

They rushed in that direction, dodging around the handful of bystanders—all of whom completely ignored their presence. Sabrina’s scream cut off abruptly. Trip and May rounded a corner and saw Coulson dragging an unconscious Sabrina out of an unmarked exit. Through the window they could see a helicopter just touching down. Two men in SWAT gear jumped out and headed towards Coulson.

“Oh, hell no.” Trip swore. He and May pulled out their ICERs and ran faster.

When they got outside, they saw the two men carrying Sabrina with Coulson walking quickly beside them. They shot at the men. One went down, but the other’s body armor protected him. He stumbled, turned, and pointed at them, shouting. Three more men jumped out of the helicopter and ran towards the agents.

“You think that counts as direct interaction?” Trip asked wryly.

“Guess so,” May replied. “Which makes these things useless.” They pulled off their helmets and tossed them aside. “I’ll deal with them.” She nodded to the newcomers. “You get her.”

Trip nodded and headed towards the man dragging Sabrina, who had left his unconscious colleague behind with Coulson. Trip tried to shoot the man, but he pulled up Sabrina’s unconscious body so that she got hit instead. Realizing that further shooting was useless, Trip moved in to engage the man hand-to-hand. When he got close, the man threw Sabrina in Trip’s direction. Startled, Trip caught her awkwardly and carefully lowered her to the ground.

He turned to find that one of the other men had arrived to join the fight. Trip was caught in a flurry of punches, kicks, and blocks. He worked to move the fight away from Sabrina. He took a hard kick to the side but managed to grab and spin one of his opponents into a chokehold, using the man’s body to block an attack from his other opponent.

As the man in the chokehold started to weaken, Trip grabbed the ICER from his belt, reached around, and shot the other man in the leg. The man had a moment to look confused at Trip’s choice of aim before he dropped unconscious. Trip let go of the man in the chokehold, and he slumped to his knees.

Trip was about to finish the man when a grunt behind him made him turn. He saw May with her arms held by two of the men while Coulson punched her repeatedly. She tried to kick Coulson in the chest, but he caught her foot, so she used their hold on her arms as leverage and swung her other leg around to kick him in the side of the head. He stumbled sideways, but one of the other men took the opportunity to punch her in the stomach.

Trip grabbed the guy from behind and yanked him around into a knee to the stomach. May spun and head-butted the other man, following it with a hard kick to the gut.

“Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Coulson’s voice rang out.

Trip and May slowly turned to see him standing a few feet away pressing the barrel of a gun to the side of his own head.

“Coulson? What the hell?” Trip asked, bewildered. He looked from Coulson to May and back in confusion. May’s face was impassive, but Trip was close enough to see the slight clench and release of her jaw.

“I mean it! Take one step and the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. dies for the second time this year!”

Trip and May slowly raised their hands in the air.

“Coulson,” May said carefully. “This isn’t you. Whatever this is, however it’s controlling you, you need to fight it.”

Coulson smiled and shrugged. “Sorry. That’s not the way this works. You messed with the Dollhouse. You stole one of our Actives. Now you have to face the consequences.”

“Coulson...” May took a careful step towards him.

“Ah ah ah.” He shook his head and his finger tightened on the trigger. She froze again and pressed her lips together. Out of the corner of his eye, Trip could see the men gathering Sabrina and their fallen comrades and taking them to the helicopter.

May’s eyes hardened. “We won’t let this go. We know where you work. We _will_ come after you and shut you down for good.”

“Maybe.” Coulson’s face was placid. “I left you a little something waiting for you, back on the plane. If it—shall we say—hits its mark, well, you might see things differently.” He smiled slowly, and May’s eyes widened.

“Fitzsimmons! Skye! Get off the plane as fast as you can. Now!” she snapped over the comm.

“What? Why? What’s Coulson saying? We can’t hear...”

“Do what she says!” Trip yelled, panic creeping into his voice.

Coulson’s creepy grin grew, and May and Trip held their breath until they heard Skye’s voice panting over the communicator. “Okay. We’re out. What’s the deal?”

Trip said, “Don’t freak out, but Coulson just implied he might have left a bomb on the plane.”

“Don’t freak out? _Don’t freak out?!_ ” Fitz’s voice rose over the sound of the helicopter preparing for takeoff. “What kind of bomb? What’s the blast radius? Trigger mechanism? What does it look like? What if we brought it out with us by mistake?”

In the background Simmons whispered, “Oh god, oh god, oh god” under her breath.

Skye’s voice trembled slightly. “How confident—I mean, how sure—I mean—” She swallowed. “What do we do now?”

“Stay back from the plane, check your belongings and each other for anything suspicious, and wait for us to get back.” May said. She looked at Trip then at Coulson, whose eyes followed the path of the helicopter through the sky.

When it had moved out of sight Coulson refocused his eyes on May and Trip. He smiled and winked at them, then started to pull the trigger. They both lurched forward, and he fell suddenly to the ground.

They knelt at his side immediately. May carefully pulled the gun out of Coulson’s hand while Trip took his pulse.

“He’s alive.” Trip breathed.

May closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” She opened her eyes and looked at Trip. “Now what?”

*   *   *   *   *

A Motel Room: Lancaster, CA

Coulson woke up slowly. A small jerk revealed when he realized that he was bound to a chair, but his body relaxed and his face was carefully blank when he opened his eyes and looked at his team.

“I’m guessing I missed something. Someone want to fill me in?” He gave a small, hopeful smile.

The team looked at each other. Fitz opened his mouth to say something, but Simmons put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head.

May shifted her weight. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The last thing?” Coulson hesitated. “I was...I was with Sabrina in the holding cell. What happened? Did she knock me out?”

“Not exactly.”

“Ah.” Coulson looked down at where his wrists were tied to the arms of the chair and looked back up at May. “I did something.”

May nodded slightly.

“How bad?” he asked.

May pressed her lips together. “Bad enough. Sabrina’s gone, presumably taken back to the Dollhouse. We don’t know what information she took with her. And there might be a bomb on the Bus.”

“On the positive side, none of us is dead or even seriously injured.” Simmons chimed in.

“Thanks, Simmons,” Coulson smiled at her sadly then turned to May. “So, what’s next?”

“Fitz and Trip, find a way to safely scan the Bus for any explosive devices. Skye, see if you can figure out what information ended up on that hard drive—something tells me it was more than just our specs on Sabrina. Simmons will patch me up, and then you and I talk some more.”

“Fair enough. Thanks for stopping me.”

May shrugged. “You’d do the same for us.”

*   *   *   *   *

L.A. Dollhouse: Topher’s Lab

“How did it happen, Topher?” DeWitt’s voice was cold.

Topher paced back and forth, wringing his hands. “I don’t know. How should I know? Why are you asking _me_?”

“Weeks ago Sierra was kidnapped, presumably by agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. We never heard a word from her kidnappers, and Mr. Langton’s best efforts were insufficient to locate and apprehend them. Then, this morning, Sierra walks up to our doorstep and falls unconscious. You have been examining her for the last four hours. Who else do you expect me to ask for an explanation?”

“I don’t know.” Topher shrugged dramatically. “Boyd? God? Sierra herself? Although, good luck with that last one, because I already tried it. Before I wiped her she wouldn’t say a word, and after the wipe it was all ‘Did I fall asleep?’ and ‘I try to be my best.’ Completely, unsurprisingly useless. But, hey, maybe you can get her to talk.”

“Did I hear my name?” Langton poked his head in the door.

“You did,” DeWitt said. “Mr. Langton, Topher here suggested that you might have an insight into Sierra’s surprising return.”

“Well, not _suggested_ as such,” Topher equivocated, “But I _might_ have said there was a _chance_...”

Langton raised his eyebrows. “Well, I don’t know that it’s a special insight, but I do recall you describing the Actives’ behavior as bird-like at one point.”

“Right. When they were flocking.” Topher nodded, but looked unsure. “Is there a point I’m missing here?”

“Well, many birds have a strong homing instinct, right? Could something similar be happening here?” Langton asked.

Topher stared at Langton in complete confusion, but hid it when DeWitt turned to him for confirmation.

“Sure. Yeah, that could totally make sense.” Topher nodded confidently.

DeWitt turned to look at Langton and Topher shook his head and mouthed “What the fuck?” over her shoulder. She turned back to Topher, and he looked serious and nodded again.

“Here’s what I’m thinking: We put significant effort into establishing the Dollhouse as a place of peace and comfort for the Actives, reinforcing it on every level of their cognitive structure. When Sierra’s imprint began to degrade she would have experienced a surge of negative emotions: fear, anger, loneliness, paranoia. She must have escaped her captors, and then some part of her must have focused in on the house as the last place she felt truly safe. As for the passing out, that’s not even vaguely surprising. It’s a miracle that she held herself together long enough to get here,” Topher said.

“I see.” DeWitt said. “And you didn’t mention this theory before because—?”

“It just came to me! And all thanks to the irreplaceable inspiration provided by Boyd here—the apple to my Newton, the bathtub to my Archimedes!”

“Thanks,” Boyd said dryly.

DeWitt hid a smile behind her hand. “Indeed. How fortunate for us. If you have any more insights Topher—Langton-inspired or otherwise—be sure to let me know immediately.”

“Can do, boss-lady.” Topher saluted her enthusiastically. He kept the smile plastered on his face until the door shut behind her, and then he turned to glare at Langton. “What the hell?”

“Hmmm?” Langton turned to look at him inquiringly.

Topher spluttered for a minute. “She…you…Sierra…What was all that crazy talk about the Actives as homing pigeons? I said they were birds—and yeah, they’re a little bit birds—but that doesn’t mean you can just assign them any and all bird-like characteristics that are convenient as a catchall explanation! There are oh so very many reasons that that is very, very wrong!”

Langton put a hand on Topher’s shoulder. “Topher, breathe.”

Topher shut his mouth and took a deep breath in through his nose, holding it and then letting it out slowly, glaring at Langton the whole time.

“Look, Topher, I know that’s not how Sierra got back here.”

“You do?” Topher looked bewildered.

“Yes.”

Topher narrowed his eyes. “How do you—?”

“Because I know what actually happened.” Langton seemed content to leave it at that, but Topher gestured for him to continue. “I sent out an extraction team. They picked Sierra up yesterday and delivered her to the house this morning.”

“You—? They what—? But then why doesn’t DeWitt know that?”

Langton sighed. “We were able to find Sierra because the Dollhouse had a sleeper agent in the S.H.I.E.L.D. group. But his presence there was set up by certain individuals higher up in this organization for reasons of their own. Individuals with whom Ms. DeWitt has had rather…fraught interactions in the past. They would only agree to give us the code words to activate their Sleeper under the condition that she remain in the dark and we not ask any more questions. I’m counting on you to maintain that level of secrecy.”

“Wait, you want me to lie to DeWitt? I don’t think I can. One simple question, one raised eyebrow, and I’ll fold like a Hoberman sphere.”

“She won’t ask, Topher. All you have to do is not volunteer the information.”

“Really?”

“You can do that, can’t you? For the sake of the Dolls—for all of us?”

“Yeah, I think—I’m pretty sure I can probably, maybe handle that.”

“Good man.” Langton patted him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, right. Good.” Topher forced a shaky smile. “Can I, uh—can I go now? I’d really like to be someplace that is elsewhere. Okay?”

“Sure. And Topher?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing the right thing.”

“Oh, goody. Brownie points all around.”

*   *   *   *   *

S.H.E.I.L.D. Plane: The Hangar

Skye nudged Coulson with her shoulder as they boarded the plane. “It’s weird seeing you wearing one of those things.” She nodded to the monitoring bracelet around his wrist.

He shrugged. “Considering everything that happened, I think it’s a more than reasonable precaution on May’s part.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I totally get it, but still…weird, y’know?”

“Fine. Yes, I suppose it is weird.”

“See, was that so hard?” She grinned at him, and he smiled slightly in response.

“Ah, Fitz, are you quite certain the plane is safe for us to board?” Simmons asked cautiously.

“Reasonably certain—we were able to use long-range scanners to identify and analyze all items that contained reagents and/or trigger mechanisms for a wide range of volatile reactions. At this point all of them have been accounted for and have either been rendered inert or stored in accordance with all relevant security protocols.”

“Can you repeat that in English?” Skye asked.

Fitz paused for a moment to think. “I can say with approximately eighty-seven percent certainty that nothing on this ship is going to blow us up.”

“Eighty-seven percent?” Skye’s eyes widened. “That sounds low to me. Maybe we should wait longer to get on the Bus. You know, give you some more time to examine it with, uh, all possible thoroughness…”

“Actually, eighty-seven percent is quite good, considering that our baseline hovers around ninety-two.” Fitz assured her. “Any time in the field involves a certain inevitable degree of risk, after all.”

“Oh, great.” Skye forced a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Simmons took Skye’s hand and tangled their fingers together. “Come on. I want to hear the message that was left for us.”

Skye raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, let’s just hope that doesn’t explode and kill us all.”

“That would be highly unlikely,” Fitz interjected. “Trip and I have examined the device thoroughly, and it clearly contains an audio file and nothing else. It is significantly more probably that your boots or sunglasses will spontaneously combust.”

Skye stuck her tongue out at him and mumbled, “I’ll spontaneously combust _your_ sunglasses.”

May cleared her throat and they both turned to give him their attention. Trip held the device carefully away from his body, took a deep breath, and triggered it. It immediately emitted a loud crackling, screeching noise. Trip dropped it on the floor and all of the agents ducked for cover.

Then a deep, warm, male voice spoke. “My apologies for the unpleasant feedback. I’m afraid it is a necessary precaution to ensure that certain, prying ears do not hear or record what I am about to say.” The team carefully crept out from their hiding places and looked down at the device in confusion.

“My dear Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” the voice continued. “I am afraid that my time as your, ah, ‘Deep Throat’—enjoyable though it has been—must now come to an end. You won’t believe me when I say this is all for the best, but that is part of why I like you so much.

“You see, your predecessors at S.H.I.E.L.D. were conveniently pragmatic. They were willing to turn a blind eye to the Dollhouse’s continued operation in return for certain favors—ranging from the prosaic to the indulgent to the quite literally life-changing. And yes, I am referring to your resurrection experience, my dear Agent Coulson. Unfortunately, I suspect your moral codes will not allow you to make similar alliances with what you surely consider a corrupt corporation. Therefore I have been forced to take matters into my own hands.

“You should know that, under my direction, Agent Coulson loaded far more than you intended onto that flashdrive of yours. I now have comprehensive information about every one of your team members and all of your recent missions. You must know there are a number of countries and organizations that would love to hear all about the rogue team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents operating outside the law. Let me be clear: if you continue your investigation into the Dollhouse or act to harm the organization in any way I will reveal that information to anyone and everyone who would use it to make your lives more difficult.

“This is not a threat; it is a promise. Make the right choice, agents. Choose discretion as the better part of valor. There are many evils in the world—Hydra, for example, deserves a place at the top of the list. Focus your efforts where they can do the most good. Leave the Dollhouse alone, or rest assured, we will crush you and dance on your ashes.”

The team stared at each other in silence.

Finally Skye spoke. “Well, shit.”

“That pretty much sums it up,” Trip agreed.

“Surely we can’t—? We wouldn’t—? Just because they—? They can’t…right?” Simmons looked around the room helplessly.

May clenched her jaw. “S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t give in to terrorist threats.”

“But he’s right, isn’t he?” Fitz asked. “I mean, the Dollhouse is obviously evil, but when we consider all of the other wrongs that we could be addressing…”

“So, what? We just give up?” Skye demanded. “Let them continue their evil, brain-washing slave ring? Leave them alone because they threatened us?”

Coulson sighed. “We can only fight a war on so many fronts at one time.”

“You can’t be serious,” Simmons said.

May crossed her arms and inspected Coulson with narrowed eyes.

“No offense, sir, but how do we know you aren’t being controlled by them again?” Trip asked.

“You don’t,” said Coulson. “But you can at least let me finish.” He looked around at all of them. “We can only fight this war on so many fronts, but we are not fighting this war alone. The Dollhouse got the drop on us and now they know who we are. They’ll be watching us—waiting to see if we fight or fold. So we fold. We turn around and go after Hydra guns blazing, just like they want. Meanwhile we drop a line to some of our friends. S.H.I.E.L.D. may have gone underground, but we still have contacts in high places.”

“Pepper?” May asked, with the hint of a smile.

“Absolutely,” Coulson agreed. “She can get the political ball rolling without anyone ever suspecting Stark Industries was involved, let alone S.H.I.E.LD. A word here, a nudge there, and before Rossum knows what hit them they’ll be the subject of a very thorough, very public senate investigation. Their defeat will be all the sweeter for being one hundred percent legal.”

“I like it,” May said.

“Brilliant,” added Simmons, grinning.

“Well,” said Skye, “I’m sold. And hey, Coulson, it looks like you’re brainwash-free! 'Cause if that plan came from Rossum they must be playing some bat-shit crazy, long game that I don’t even want to understand.”

“Trip?” asked Fitz, seeing the look of concern on the other man’s face.

Trip turned away. “I get the logic, but any way you spin it we’re leaving Sabrina with them, helpless.”

“Oh, Trip. I’m sure she’ll be okay,” Simmons reassured him. “For all of its faults, I can’t believe the Dollhouse would let anything truly bad happen to her, right?” She looked around the room for confirmation. Skye squeezed her hand.

Trip looked at her sadly. “I hope you’re right.”


	3. Epitaph 1.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs before the events of Epitaph Two.

Just Outside of Tucson:

It wasn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fault that they failed to stop the apocalypse—they were in another galaxy when it happened. They kicked themselves for it afterwards. Fitz and Simmons rehashed the argument repeatedly as they worked to create tools to protect the team from wipes and hopefully, eventually reverse the imprinting process. Over and over again Simmons insisted that—in light of Skye’s parentage—they had no choice but to get involved in the Kree-Skrull War, and Fitz replied that that was all well and good, but they really ought to have considered the inevitable temporal dilation involved in faster-than-light travel.

Skye avoided the arguments and stayed in her room. She pushed through her guilt by working around the clock to locate survivors across the country, communicate with them, and help them build a growing network of safe houses.

Coulson didn’t say much of anything to anyone. After the Dollhouse’s manipulations and the alien influence he didn’t trust himself around tech or around other people. He spent most of his time doing manual labor in the garden and around the compound.

May went out frequently on long, solo missions. Afterwards Skye would hear rumors that reached almost mythical proportions about ‘the Cavalry’ who left entire cities cleared of Butchers in her wake. If the rumors had been about anyone else Skye would have assumed they were exaggerations. As it was she was glad that May had the opportunity to reclaim and redefine her once-hated nickname.

Trip went out alone, too, but his missions were shorter, and he always had at least one of the others on comm. He went on supply missions, searching for food and gas, tools, weapons, medical supplies. He also went on rescue missions, helping the survivors that Skye located get to the closest stable commune.

A group of Actuals holed up in the sewer system in a southeast suburb of Tucson managed to contact Skye using an ancient ham radio. There were fifteen people still alive when Trip found them. He got them packed and ready to move, but when they left the sewers they discovered that butchers had surrounded Trip’s truck.

Trip immediately urged the young, sick, and injured back underground and led the rest to create a diversion. They charged the Butchers, shouting and waving their hands, then turned tail and ran—moving just slow enough that the lumbering madmen could almost keep up with them. When Trip judged that they had gotten far enough away from the others he gave a signal and his group started to run at full speed. They ducked through an alley and into a warehouse, slamming and locking the heavy metal door behind them. They froze and tried to keep their panting as soft as possible, praying that the Butchers would blunder past their hiding place. The click of a gun being cocked was unmistakable in the near silence.

Trip slowly turned his head to peer into the shadowy interior of the warehouse. A woman stepped forwards. The dim light revealed her cold eyes and the calm, steady confidence with which she held her gun pointed straight at Trip’s chest.

Trip stared at her in shock—it was Sabrina.

“Are you with Rossum?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Do you work for the Rossum Corporation?” She spoke slowly, as if the question was obvious.

“No.” Trip shook his head. “No, we’re—“

One of the others interrupted him. “We’re looking for Safe Haven.”

“Yeah? Well, then we’re headed in the same direction. I can lead you there if—” She gestured to the piles around her. “You help me carry some of these supplies.”

Everyone looked at the construction tools and materials around them and grabbed what they could carry. They left the warehouse by a different door and snuck back to the truck. Trip took out the lone remaining Butcher with a quick, silent knife to the throat. They found the rest of their group already hiding in the back of the truck. They stowed the supplies, and Trip walked around to the driver’s seat. He didn’t blink when Sabrina slid into the passenger’s seat beside him.

They drove most of the way in silence, broken only by her monosyllabic directions and occasional screams in the distance.

Eventually, after she’d directed them down an almost hidden side road that Trip had almost missed she asked, “Those people in the back said you were their guide, but I know you’ve never been to Safe Haven. You obviously don’t know where it is. How were you planning on getting them there if you hadn’t run into me?”

“I wasn’t. I thought Safe Haven was just a story. I was going to take them to a small settlement of Actuals just south of where the border used to be. But if Safe Haven’s real then it’s closer and, well, safer. I’m happy to be flexible.”

“Right. Well, glad to shorten your trip I guess.”

They were quiet again; then Trip glanced sideways at her. “You have to admit it was ironic, you asking if we worked for Rossum.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just—The last time I met you you were the one working for them. Except, of course I’m realizing that I’m an idiot, and of course it doesn’t seem ironic to you because you probably don’t remember any of it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You met me when I was a Doll.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” He shrugged slightly, keeping his eyes on the road. “We—that is, my team and I—tried to rescue you.”

“Ah, lovely. The ‘princess in the tower’ scenario. I guess it’s not just for Echo after all.” She turned her face away from him and looked out the window. “Did you wake me with a kiss at the end, or was it a deeply romantic fuck?”

“That’s not how it went down. We got you out of there. We figured out your true identity, and our science team was working on a way to fix what they did to you, but…”

“Yes. Of course. There’s always a ‘but,’ isn’t there? But it was too expensive. But it was too difficult. But I was too broken.”

“But it turned out that our leader had some subliminal programing left over from when the Dollhouse helped bring him back to life, and they used it to make him turn you over to them.”

She scoffed. “Of course. That was my next guess.”

They were both quiet for a while. Then she turned her whole body to look at him.

“You know, it’s not just that I don’t remember you. Whoever that girl was that you met, I’m not her. She doesn’t exist anymore. She should never have existed in the first place.”

He glanced at her. “I get that. I do. But, leaving you there, after they took you back, it just—Well, it means a lot to know you made it out okay.”

“Huh.” She looked at him quizzically. “What makes you think I’m okay?”

He shrugged, and they were silent for the rest of the drive.

The group arrived at Safe Haven around sunset and was greeted with guns and suspicion until Priya—she wasn’t Sabrina, Trip reminded himself—jumped out of the truck and waved. Her posture relaxed and she smiled as she walked over to talk to her friends. They visibly relaxed as well, and soon welcomed the newcomers. They even invited Trip to stay the night.

Dinner was simple but surprisingly tasty, supplemented by vegetables from the community garden. The adults made careful conversation. The two children from the rescued group quickly made friends with Priya’s young son, T. As soon as dinner finished the three went racing around the yard in an intricate game of tag.

Trip sat on the porch steps and watched with a soft smile on his face. Priya sat down next to him, her eyes also focused on the children.

“How did you justify it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” He looked at her in confusion.

She looked back at him with challenge in her eyes. “Your team. Whoever you were. You knew where I was. You must have known what they were doing to me, and you just left me there. I want to know how you could possibly justify that.”

“Short answer? We didn’t. At least, not convincingly. Leaving you there was one of the hardest decisions of my life, and I never was sure that we made the right call. But the Dollhouse had been pulling our strings from the start, and they had us in a tight spot. We thought our best chance was asking our allies to deal with the house while we focused our energies elsewhere.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “And look how well that turned out.”

“Well, to be fair, we saved the world from a bunch of other threats that you’ll never know about. But I get it, and you’re right—the apocalypse you don’t stop is the one that counts.”

She shrugged, stood, and called the kids in to get ready for bed. He stayed out for a long time, looking at the stars and lost in thought.

The next morning she pulled him aside when he was about to leave. He waited patiently while she looked down at her feet, licked her lips, and then looked up at him.

“Before you go, I wanted to ask: what was she like, the woman I was when you knew me?”

“She was smart. Funny. Crazy good at paintball.” Trip smiled slightly and shook his head. “She was the first asexual person I ever met—at least the first I knew about. She helped me understand parts of my life that I hadn’t really—Let’s just say it meant a lot. I’ve thought about her often over the years, and, like I said, I always regretted that we didn’t get you out.”

“Yeah, well, the Dollhouse wasn’t all bad…” She laughed and shook her head. “What am I saying? It was awful. But some of the things that happened because I was there—I mean, if you had gotten me out back then I’d probably be a Butcher right now, or a Dumbshow, or dead. And I definitely wouldn’t have T.” She looked over to where her son was playing and smiled, then looked back to Trip. “So I guess I’m saying: don’t spend any more energy worrying about me. I’d much rather you focus on fixing this mess of a world, because we need all the help we can get.”


End file.
